


Antithesis

by KBates



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Dark Jareth, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Games, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Jareth and Sarah have twin boys, Love, Lust, Power Dynamics, Seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2018-11-05 03:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: Antithesis: a juxtaposition of the past and the present.(Past) Caught in a ruthless game of seduction orchestrated by two lovers, 18-year-old Sarah Williams finds her life changed forever when she falls for one of them. (Present) Sarah must navigate the ruthless Goblin Court, while keeping her twin 14-year-old sons safe from their father, the Goblin King.Inspired by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s Les Liaisons dangereuses and a fairy tale or two. Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or any associated characters.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.

\--

“How you torment me, my love.” He groans as her mouth swallows him – keeping him on the brink of release. “I ask for so little.”

The golden haired assassin pulls back, a smile forming on her lips as he hisses in protest. “Your Grace,” she murmurs, her fingers replace her mouth – keeping him aroused. “You’re asking for too much.” She straddles his waist, knees on either side of his hips.

He shivers as she presses herself against him— _so wet_. “Raeyn,” he half whispers—she’s teasing him, slowly rubbing herself along his length. The muscles on his lower abdomen are taut and there’s a thin sheen of perspiration on his body. When it comes to pleasure, he’s never quite had anyone else like her.

She laughs, flipping her long, wavy hair to the side—letting it flow onto his chest like a waterfall. “Something you want, Your Grace?” Her fingers play with his heated flesh, she collects the pearly fluid at the tip, staring at him intently. Slowly and deliberately, she brings her finger to her mouth and sucks.

Throwing his head back, he chokes out a moan as she ruthlessly pleasures him with her skilled fingers. “Raeyn,” he breathes heavily. “Will you take the contract?”

Raising a brow, she studies him, impressed. But he is a King after all, she supposes, official matters would always be a priority. “You wish for me to rid you of Vyrenis, Jareth,” she says, using his name, “At great risk to myself. The Eternal Prison is a heavy sentence, and not even _you_ can get me out.”

Propping himself on his elbows, he eyes her with a grin. “I have faith in you, my love. And I will pay you handsomely.”

She laughs again. “Have no doubt, Your Grace—I will _take_ handsomely from you. But riches to get… _tiring_ after one has accumulated so much,” she says, teasing him again with her body—sliding herself against him. “I had another payment in mind, something far more… _interesting_.”

He raises a brow. “Do tell.”

She’s piqued his curiosity, but she doesn’t tell him what—a different kind of torture. Instead, she impales herself upon him in one swift motion, moaning deeply as pleasure clouds her senses.  She moves slowly, grinding against him with acute precision. She knows exactly what he likes—how to make him burn with desire.

“Gods,” he murmurs, thrusting his hips upwards. He lets out a low gasp when her muscles clench him tighter—raising his lust to unbearable heights. In spite of losing himself to the slow and torturous rhythm of pleasure, he still can’t help but wonder what it is that she wants from him. Raising a hand, he twists one of her nipples with his fingers, smiling as she hisses in pain. Still, she retains the torturous rhythm she’s set and his body feels like it’s on fire. With a wicked grin, he decides to help her speed up her actions—he moves a hand between their bodies and caresses her clitoris in rapid strokes.

It works.

Moaning deeply, she rides him faster, letting out a sharp cry every time he touches a pleasure spot deep within her. She feels his muscles tense…and tense…his thrusts deepen and his hand moves from her nipple to roughly grab her hip. He’s close—she knows it. “Come for me, Your Grace,” she whispers hoarsely.

He feels her muscles tighten and he flicks her clit— _hard_. She comes undone and so does he. His body trembles violently as he comes, pouring himself into her in hot spurts.

Breathing roughly, he pulls himself out of her—his eyes sharpen. He’s back to being the King in a fraction of a second. “Tell me of your interesting proposal, Raeyn.”

She smiles at him—he’s so _quick_ to get to business. “I haven’t seen you in some time, my love,” she lilts. “But I have heard some stories.”

The lines on his face turn harsh. “Get to the point.”

“I heard a human child solved your little puzzle box, my love….and that you’ve been keeping your eyes on her,” her voice has a strange sing-song quality that makes her sound young and naïve. It’s worked well to her advantage—her victims always underestimate her.

“She has nothing to do with the Underground—what interest could you possibly have in her?”

She tilts her head, gathering her golden hair on one side. “So it’s true then,” she states rather than asks.

He doesn’t answer her, his hand running along her hair. He’s not one for physical affections after seeking pleasure, but he’s always been different from her.

Her eyes grow cold. “If you require my services for Vyrenis, Your Grace, you will have to fulfil a… _request_ of mine.”

“Speak.”

Smiling slowly, she says, “Corrupt your mortal for me. Seduce her until she bleeds for you.”

He sits up, a frown on his face. “Why would you want me to do that?”

“Oh, one gets bored after a few centuries of existence—those were your words, I believe,” she replies, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “I’ve heard so much of mortals and how they love, I’d like to see it firsthand. Make her love you—then break her and see how she falls.”

The frown remains on his face. “And Vyrenis?”

“Will die tonight, by my hand.”

His gaze hardens. “Agreed.”

\--

_(Present day)…_

Sarah Williams frowns at the man sitting across from her—he’s perfect. At 42, he’s never been married, so he doesn’t come with the baggage of an ex-wife or children. He seems to have accepted her situation…or _situations_ rather…quite readily and has made quite an effort to fit into her life. He works at a modest PE firm that looks at mostly small to mid-cap companies, so his work hours are not insane.

“Robert,” she says, cringing a little as she says his name. She’d never have imagined she’d go out with someone that had her dad’s name, but here she is. “You realize what you’re saying, right? We’ve only been together for a year and that’s… _quite_ a commitment.”

Robert laughs. “I’m sure, Sarah. I’ve found a decent brownstone in Brooklyn where there’s enough space for all of us.”

She stares at him, incredulous. “You understand the kind of noise you’d be subjected to right? Living with us isn’t going to be easy.”

He waves off her concerns. “I’m sure. Moving in together is the right step for us.”

Just as she’s about to question again, her phone rings and she sees ‘Tobes’ flash across the screen. Her heartrate spikes—she’d told him not to call her unless it is an emergency. “Excuse me,” she tells Robert, before moving away for some privacy. “Tobes, is everything alright?” she asks.

“No, Sarah you need to come here now.”

Her blood freezes—Toby sounds petrified. Worst case scenarios run through her head, and a lump forms in her throat. “I’m on my way, what is it?”

“ _He’s_ here.”

She rushes out of the restaurant and immediately hails a cab.

\--

 

 


	2. Chapter 1: Reunion

 

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

Like a wolf in the pasture, he lies in wait—he waits until all customers have left along with most other employees. He waits until the lights are dimmed and most of the doors are locked—and then he makes his move. He smirks, looking at the mortal in her ridiculous work uniform.

“Hello, my beloved.”

\--

Sarah can’t wait for the day to end—working in a department store at the mall is so freaking boring, but she needs a summer job that pays her some money, albeit a pittance. The internship she’s managed to snag is unpaid, so she has no choice but to work part time. It’s only till September anyway, then she’s off to Bard. She feels giddy with excitement at the thought of leaving home and getting her first taste of freedom. Not that her dad and Karen are puritans, but the lure of adulthood and true freedom is too exciting.

Just as she’s about to shut down the cash register, she hears someone walk up to the counter—she groans. She _hates_ it how one inconsiderate customer somehow always manages to come up to her _right_ before she closes. _Well, not today_. She raises her head to tell the person she’s already shut everything down, but her heart stops beating at the sight in front of her.

“Hello, my beloved.”

Her heart beats loudly and her pulse races. She opens her mouth to speak…? …scream? She does neither as her voice dies in her throat.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice rich and melodious. He laughs softly when she remains speechless, and moves closer…and closer…until he’s a step away.

“You can’t be here,” she whispers.

He raises a brow. “Why not?” He leans into her, close enough that he can hear her heart thudding wildly.

“Because…” she begins, eyes wide with fear, “I didn’t wish anyone away.”

Throwing his head back, he laughs heartily before taking a gloved hand and catching her chin. “Darling girl, I’m here because I wish to see _you_.”

She can feel the heat of his fingers even through his gloves. Her jade eyes light up with curiosity. “Why?”

Smiling slowly, he runs his fingers down her face, down the line of her neck, in a slow caress. “Oh, Sarah, you know why,” he murmurs, leaning closer still, causing her to back up against the wall. His smile turns predatory— _no room for escape, darling girl_.

She trembles as his fingers trace the nametag on her chest. Even through his gloves and her clothes, she responds to his touch, her breasts grow heavy and she feels a rush of desire, low in her stomach. “I…” she stammers, “I _don’t_ know why.”

“ _Really_?” he asks, a mocking lilt to his voice. “Don’t you know how you’ve starved and exhausted me, Sarah?”

She opens and closes her mouth, shocked. He’s looking at her with raw pain in his eyes, as if she’s tortured him somehow. “No,” she replies.

“How cruel,” he drawls, a bitter smile on his lips. “You turn my world and forget me while I…” his mismatched gaze turns intense, “…while I _starve_ for you.” He places an arm around her lower waist. Her body reacts to him almost instantaneously—he can _feel_ her pulse race. He laughs to himself— _seducing her is pathetically easy_. “Tell me you feel the same, my beloved.”

Breathing hard, she looks up at him, thoroughly confused. Why does he call her beloved? Is he saying he…wants her? A part of her cheers—the fiercely beautiful monarch has been the subject of her fantasies ever since she first laid eyes on him. Another part of her feels like bolting as far away as she can.

He smirks—the silly girl seems frozen, her eyes hazy with confusion and lust. Leaning in ever so slowly, he stops, placing his lips centimeters from hers. “Tell me that you need me, precious thing,” his lips brush hers softly, “…as much as I need you.”

Sarah doesn’t know what to make of any of this. The only sexual experience she’s ever had is with an ex-boyfriend and they hadn’t really done much apart from heavy petting—that too, only once. Her body had responded, and she _had_ enjoyed herself…just not like _this_. She gasps when she feels him pull her body flush against his—liquid heat gathers between her legs.

He looks at her heatedly for a few moments. “I’m sorry if this scares you, _precious thing_ , but I cannot resist any longer.” Saying that he kisses her slowly, laughing on the inside as he hears her gasp—he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. By her rather clumsy response, he knows she doesn’t have much experience… _that makes his task even easier_.

There’s a low, pulsing ache between her legs and her breasts are unbearably sensitive. _Is this what a real kiss is supposed to feel like_ —she wonders. She presses herself against him by reflex, letting out a startled yelp when she feels him, already hard.

“My sweet, precious beloved,” he croons, cradling her face with his hands. “Look at what you do to me.” His hands how run down her sides before settling at her lower waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against her hip bones. He almost frowns as she sighs—seducing her seems to be remarkably _un_ challenging. But this isn’t just seduction, is it? Raeyn had said love… _make her love you_. Perhaps _that_ will be a more… _entertaining_ challenge.

“It’s not on purpose,” she stammers sincerely—suddenly feeling guilty. He makes it sound as if she hurt him on purpose.

A soft laugh. “No, my beloved, I suppose not,” he rumbles, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her clothes—it elicits a shiver. He steps back and lets out a sigh. “I must leave now, precious thing.”

She whimpers as he pulls back, her body completely ravenous for his touch.

He puts on a mask of utter desperation. “I _have to_ see you again, Sarah. Allow me the opportunity to _worship_ you like you deserve.”

Her breath catches in her throat—at all of 18, she’s never heard this kind of declaration other than in movies. _Did he actually say worship?_ “Okay,” she replies softly— _what else can she say to that?_

He smiles, making sure to keep his teeth hidden. It wouldn’t do to frighten her early on. “I’ll return for you, _precious thing_. Very soon.”

\--

_(Later that night)…_

He stares at the retreating form of the dark haired courtier. He’d felt _particularly_ insatiable tonight and it had taken more than a few hours to …soothe his needs. Pulling up a crystal, he peers at the girl who ate the peach—she sleeps peacefully.

His lips twist in a slow smirk.

\--                                           

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Chest heaving with exertion, Sarah forces open the front door to her 4th floor apartment. She immediately steels herself from reacting to the sight of the Goblin King, who stands tall and unyielding, in the middle of her too small living room. She keeps her fists clenched—her muscles tense, as she faces the man… _could you even call him that?_...who broke her heart and crushed her soul all those years ago.  

Her eyes dart to the far corner, where she sees three blond headed boys—two blond headed boys and one young man, to be more precise—she sighs in relief as they appear unharmed. The young man looks terrified while the boys stare at the mythical king with acute interest.

“Toby,” she says in-between breaths, walking up to her brother who seems all but paralyzed. “It’s okay, I’ve got this.”

Toby Williams lets out a deep breath when he sees his sister. “I’m so sorry Sar. This is my fault.”

She squeezes his arm reassuringly, momentarily forgetting that there’s a livid Goblin King standing just a few feet from them. “What happened?”

“I said ‘I wish you two would stop giving me hell’ and _he_ appeared out of thin air.”

The two boys snap out of their shock when they see their mother, and just as they’re about to barrage her with questions, she gives them a firm look and raises a hand. “Not a word you two.” She turns towards the Goblin King, who’s quietly witnessed the exchange. “Jareth,” she speaks, her voice businesslike, “We can talk once they leave.”

He responds with a harsh laugh. “Sarah,” he rumbles, a sneer forming on his lips, his teeth bared. “How foolish of you to believe you can give me orders, you mortal-”

He’s interrupted before he can finish his thought.

“Don’t talk to my mom that way.”

Sarah places a hand on her son’s shoulders. “Not a word more, Michael.”

The 14-year-old takes no notice of his mother’s concern. He doesn’t flinch as he stares down the man in the strange outfit. Michael is old enough to notice the similarities between them—there’s only one person the man can be. _Still_ , he doesn’t care.

The Goblin King raises a cool brow, bemused. “Do you know who I am?”

Michael only shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck. No one talks to my mom that way.”

“Michael!” Sarah exclaims, “Watch your language.”

“Really mom? You’re freaked out about my _language_ instead of the crazy man in our living room?” Michael deadpans humorously, but the look of hostility remains in his eyes.

Running a nervous hand through her long hair, Sarah looks at Toby beseechingly. “Take the boys out, Tobes.”

Toby frowns. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.” He stands resolutely, his arms crossed.

“And neither are we,” Michael chimes in. “I’m going to get my lacrosse stick.”

“Stop,” Sarah says, her voice suddenly formidable. Having dealt with three unruly boys for the last fourteen years, she knows when to assert herself. “All three of you will leave us for two hours, _then_ you can come back. Am I clear?”

“But Sarah-”

“Tobes,” she says, her voice becoming sterner. “I can take care of this, but you need to get them out. _Now_.”

Toby finally relents, muttering something about stubborn sisters under his breath. “Come on you two, you heard your mom. Move it.”

The Goblin King eyes his other son curiously—the boy looks exactly like the one called Michael, but he hasn’t spoken a word so far.  

Never knowing when to quit, Michael looks at his brother for support—but he only shakes his head. Sighing, he gives in and follows the two out of the apartment. “It’s not fair.”

\--

The Goblin King assess the woman in front of him—it takes every ounce of self-control to keep his rage under control. Even so, it doesn’t escape him that she has grown taller, and her face is sleeker. Her cheekbones are sharp and her gaze icier than he remembers. She’d drawn him in as a child…but as an adult, she’s _mesmerizing_.

He waits for her to speak, but she only stares back at him, her frosty eyes narrowed. “So,” he begins when she doesn’t say anything, “…it seems we need to discuss numerous matters. Allow me to begin with: how is it that you were able to hide from me?”

The look in his eyes frightens her enough so that she clenches her fists to keep herself from trembling. She’s been his puppet before, and she’ll be damned if he can get any reaction out of her again. Indicating the couch beside him with a gesture of her hands, she says as politely as she can, “Please sit down.”

The Goblin King barks a laugh, his inhuman teeth in full display. “How kind of you, _precious thing_.” He does as she asks, a smirk forming on his lips when he notices her cringe at the nickname.

She sits across from him, her hands still balled into fists. “I consulted a coven.”

His nostrils flare. “Mortal magic thieves,” he says, his face contorting in utter disgust.

“They’re not thieves, and _they_ are beside the point,” she replies, her face expressionless. “You probably have other questions for me.”

“I’m not going to ask _why_ you didn’t inform me of their existence, _precious thing_ ,” he uses the nickname deliberately. “I am extremely interested in knowing _how_ you’ve managed to raise them in this iron filled world of yours?”

She frowns. “Iron doesn’t affect them.” She’d thought the iron thing was a myth, just like the lying thing, apparently not.

Something akin to pride flickers in his mismatched eyes. “Twice bonded twins with immunity against iron…” his voice drifts off, but his tone is indubitably pleased. “How have you contained their magic? Untrained, it tends to… _manifest_ intermittently.”

“The coven helped.” She almost flinches as his eyes glitter with uncontained rage.

“You used mortal magic on my-”

She interrupts him before he can finish. “Your what, Jareth?” It’s her turn to smirk smirks when he doesn’t say anything. “It hasn’t been working lately. The older they get, the bigger the… _incidents_.”

A quiet laugh. “They hold _my_ magic, Sarah. It isn’t so… _easily_ …bound.”

She breathes in shakily, her strong façade fading by the second. She tries her best to appeal to his sense of mercy. From what he’s done to her in the past, she knows it’s almost nonexistent, but she’s seen him be merciful before… _once_.

“Leave us alone, Jareth,” she pleads. “We’ll figure out some way to contain the magic, just pretend this never happened. That you were never here.”

His cold heart softens a little at her display of emotion. “I’m afraid I can’t, _precious thing_.”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sarah’s 18 in the flashbacks so it’s not underage, but I still find the thought of a really old man (no matter how young he looks) going after a teenager icky. She’s still growing, her metabolism is quick like any other 18-year-old’s—so she’s skinny, maybe a little awkwardly so with knobby knees.
> 
> Jareth is more…pan-sexual in this fic, as are most inhabitants in the Underground. The dark haired courtier mentioned in the first scene could have been male or female. So religious right-wing psychos, this story isn’t for you.
> 
> As ‘dark’ as Jareth is, he’s more of a refined sort of evil…you know. No physical violence—no slapping, punching, starving, that sort of thing. Using drugs as an example, he’s more of high grade cocaine rather than trailer park cooked crystal meth. You get the idea. Doesn’t mean what he does isn’t harmful though.
> 
> In this fic, iron (in large doses) is harmful to him and his kind, but he can lie.
> 
> Also, I don’t know much about witches, but they do play a teeny tiny minor role in this fic. I like the idea of witches having a consultancy service—like McKinsey & Company or BCG. They’re making ppt decks for clients in the middle of the night, lol.


	3. Endgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

“That seemed ridiculously easy, Your Grace,” her feminine voice comes out light and melodic. “I remember distinctly saying _love_ , not mere seduction.” She jumps out of his reach, laughing as he growls low in his throat.

When he does finally catch her, she makes a great show of trying to break free from his grasp. He smiles—it may be an act, but his grip borders on painful. He knows that’s what she wants—at the moment anyway. “I can’t help the girl’s reactions towards me, Raeyn,” he whispers against her skin before bending her over his desk—his movements rough but precise. Holding the base of her neck, he plunges into her from behind—his eyes roll back in pleasure.

_He’d just come back from meeting the mortal for the second time. His hands had crept up her skirt to caress her upper thighs, never quite touching her warm center. He’d kissed his way down her neck, her throat, until he’d reached the tops of her breasts—he’d caressed her nipples through her bra. He’d teased and aroused her body until she begged him for release…but he hadn’t granted her that. He’d told her that she was too young, and it wouldn’t be fair on his part to take advantage of such…innocence._

_And then, he’d left, kissing her one last time. It hadn’t escaped him that his own body had started reacting to her touch—fueling his raging desire. He’d almost been reluctant to leave…almost. Fortunately, he’d returned to find Raeyn lounging in the antechamber to his apartments_.

The King and his assassin lie together in the hazy aftermath of pleasure.

“Would you like me to give you some suggestions, Jareth?” she asks, her voice playful.

He shoots her a jaded look. “This ludicrous game you’re asking me to play grows tedious, my love. What do you hope to gain from this?” His tone is light and humorous, but his eyes are sharp— _what is her endgame_?

The golden haired assassin laughs. “As I said, I’ve grown bored, Jareth.”

“And I am to be your source of entertainment?” There’s a quiet warning in his tone, his gaze turns icy.

The smile fades from her face almost immediately. The Goblin King can turn lethal in a matter of seconds—she’s seen that happen before. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she whispers, sitting up and pulling a silky robe over her naked form. She understands she must tread carefully. “You may end the game if you wish.”

Eyeing her carefully, he shakes his head. “No. You disposed of Vyrenis for me, and I will keep my end of the bargain.”

She hides a smile. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

\--

_(A few days later, Sarah’s house)…_

Giddy with excitement, she arranges all the new makeup products she’s purchased neatly into her makeup box. Karen had laughed and told her she didn’t need _that much_ makeup considering how young and creamy her skin was, but like all other 18-year-olds, Sarah just hadn’t been able to resist the lure of neatly packed cosmetic products. _Finally_ —in college, her dad wouldn’t be around to scowl every time she wore a touch too much eyeshadow.

“Did you miss me, my darling girl?”

She gasps—breath catching in her throat. She’s seen him twice now, but his sudden arrival always unnerves her. Turning around slowly, she smiles nervously when she sees the formidable King sit back comfortably on her frilly, single bed.

He raises a brow. “Well?”

“Y-yes,” she says, her voice coming out squeaky. She coughs. “Did you…um…take care of the…urgent matter…that came up?” That’s what he had said before leaving her the last time.

A charming smile. “I don’t want you to worry about that, my beloved.” His eyes rake over her form, deliberately slow. “Come here.”

She stills—her heart thuds loudly in her chest. His words are soft, but his tone is heated, as is his gaze. She steps towards her bed, ever so slowly, before turning around to sit next to him.

“Come _here_ , precious thing.” His tone is harsher this time, more commanding—his knees are parted and he indicates one of his legs with a gloved hand.

Breathing slowly, she does as he asks and sits on a leanly muscled thigh. “S-so can you stay longer this time?” Her voice is tinged with equal parts longing and trepidation. She whimpers as a dark chuckle rumbles out of his chest, making her bones vibrate.

“Are you all alone, Sarah?” he whispers into her ears, his tongue peeking out to lick the sensitive skin. He smiles as she shudders.

Her breath comes out in small pants as one of his hands starts caressing her thighs through the fabric of her silky pajamas. “Yes. They’re having dinner at Karen’s parents’ house. I didn’t have to go.”

He gives her an intense stare and slowly removes his gloves, smiling as she takes in a sharp breath. Poor, darling little lamb, she doesn’t stand a chance. “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time, my beloved.” Saying that, he moves his fingers to the apex of her thighs and presses down, through her pajamas.

She cries out in shock, her eyes already closed as she experiences pleasure like she’s never experienced before. His lips are on her neck, teasing, suckling, and his other hand is at her breast, caressing her nipple through the fabric of her pajamas. “Jareth,” she whispers, unsure what she wants to ask of him.

“Hmm,” he hums, moving his skilled fingers faster—pressing even harder into her. He can feel her wet arousal seep into the thin fabric and he smiles against the skin of her throat. “I’ve ached to bring you pleasure, precious thing,” he whispers, his other hand opens up the top few buttons of her pajamas. His deft fingers quickly unclasp the thin cotton bra she wears and his fingers graze a hardened nipple.

Soft moans escape her throat and she tries her best to squash them down—suddenly embarrassed. Her nipples throb almost painfully, and she feels herself grow wetter with each hard caress of his fingers. She feels her muscles tense and she feels the agonizing pressure build…and build.

 _Poor little mortal_ , he thinks, looking at her flushed face that is tightly drawn as she chases her orgasm. Deciding not to torment her any further, he takes her breast into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive nub—his fingers presses harder against her center.

She comes undone in short, muffled gasps—her body trembles and he continues pressing into her, prolonging her pleasure.

Something about her… _something_ in that moment draws him in inexplicably. Perhaps is her vulnerability or her surprise at the pleasure she feels, but something twists the corners of his lips into a smile. It’s gone right after it appears, and his eyes gleam with victory. _And now for ‘love.’_

A blush spreads across her face and neck as she looks at him, suddenly mortified. She’s never come like that by her own fingers—and certainly not with her ex-boyfriend. She wonders if she should reciprocate—her blush deepens as she realizes she doesn’t know how. “Um…” she begins, wondering what to say.

“Shh, my beloved,” he places an elegant finger on her lips. “I have something for you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “What’s that?”

Smiling disarmingly, he pulls out a red box, watching as her eyes light up. _Perhaps love would prove to be unchallenging as well._

Opening up the red box, she lets out a startled gasp as she sees a necklace—a very thin, finely crafted silver chain with a clear, pale green tear drop pendant. She turns to look at him, a bright smile on her face, before leaning in to give him a shy kiss.

“Shall I fasten it for you, My Lady?” he asks, his tone mock chivalrous.

She nods her head excitedly, removing the necklace she currently wears—a white gold chain with a delicate cloverleaf pendant that’s studded with small diamonds. It was her 16th birthday present from her father.

The Goblin King smiles, as the girl looks at her reflection—as if mesmerized. _That’s all it requires_ —he thinks derisively— _one little trinket to make her happy_. This game of Raeyn’s is proving to be increasingly dull… _and yet_ …yet his glittering eyes soften just a little when he sees the mortal smile.

 

 

\--                                           

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

She forces herself to calm down before speaking—verbal sparring would lead to nothing. Looking at him with a steady gaze, she asks, “Why not?”

He can’t help but smile as the naivety she possessed as a child resurfaces. “My enemies would joyously seize the first the opportunity to harm them,” he says, his smile widening as she gasps, “…among other reasons.”

“I was able to hide them from you, Jareth—I can continue-”

“No _, precious thing_ , you can’t,” he interrupts. “Their magic will only grow more powerful, and I can guarantee that no mortal magic thief can hide what they are.”

Her face turns white and blood drains from her face—she’s always known that was a possibility. “What about you?” she asks, appealing for mercy once again. “Can’t you hide them from the rest of your world?”

“For the time being perhaps—but not when they come of age. Twice bonded twins are rare and powerful, Sarah. Fear alone would cause my enemies to seek them out and hunt them down.”

She shudders at his words. _Hunt them down_ …her fists clench.

He studies her, his dual gaze calculating. “Then there’s _your_ safety to consider.”

She raises her brows. “Me?”

A slow smile. “Yes, _precious thing_. You gave birth to twice-bonded twins. Others of my kind would want your… _help…_ in creating strong offspring and they wouldn’t require your consent or cooperation in doing so.”

She feels queasy as her stomach roils. “Could you hide us for the time being—at least until they’re 18?”

He breathes out a harsh sigh, the lines on his face turn severe. “I could. However, they would ultimately have to return Underground—what do you suppose their chances of surviving would be if they grow up _coddled_ in this pathetic _modern_ world of yours?”

Sarah’s emotions rage within her chest as she contemplates his words. He’s correct, of course. She’s witnessed, first hand, the sheer cruelty of his realm—her heart clenches at the thought of her sons having to fight such cruelty. “I’d rather die than see them turn into you.”

The Goblin King raises an amused brow. “That can be arranged. Although, I don’t think either of the boys would like that scenario very much.”

She realizes he’s trying to rile her up with his words, and her eyes narrow. The bastard’s trying to distract her. “What do you want, Jareth?”

 _Ah, not so quick to react_ , he thinks— _she’s grown up indeed_. “I want us to take the next steps with minimal theatrics, Sarah. They can _never_ live in this world long-term, and you know it.”

“What are these _next steps_?”

He purses his lips, formulating the most logical plan. “I will first appeal to the High Council to get them legitimized, your presence is required for that. You will have to come up with an adequate response for why you kept them from me.”

She frowns. “I kept them from you because I wanted them to have _nothing_ to do with you, Jareth—it’s not some grand, complicated scheme.”

A deep throaty laugh. “Oh, my precious creature, don’t say _that_ , you’ll be the laughing stock of the entire realm. Come up with something more self-serving. Say that you wished for the twins to be _unyieldingly_ loyal to you, which is why you kept them from me— _for power_.”

Try as she might to keep her anger in check, her temper flares. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? _Power_.”

He shrugs elegantly, not the least bit phased by her derisive tone. “Among other things.”

She looks away, fighting to keep her breathing calm. “They lead normal lives here—Michael plays lacrosse, Alex plays the piano. They have their first social dance in a few weeks and a major science project due…” her voice drifts off.

At the sound of her forlorn voice, he almost places a comforting hand on her shoulder—he catches himself in time, curling his fingers into a fist. He knows she will not welcome his touch. “Alex, short for Alexander,” he muses. “Michael the sword wielding archangel and Alexander the conqueror and strategist, quite dramatic.”

She gives him a bitter smile. “I was 19, Jareth, little more than a child.”

“So you were,” he says, his voice low—head tilted, studying her reaction. “Will you fight me, _precious thing_?”

She looks at him head-on, “Depends on what you want from us, Jareth.”

A small smirk twists the corners of his lips—she’s become a far better negotiator than he remembers. “Let’s begin with legitimizing Michael and Alexander. I will be able to extend my… _personal protection_ to all three of you then. I don’t think my Court will be too pleased, but that can’t be helped.”

She knows what he’s doing—he’s breaking things down so it doesn’t sound overwhelming. “What do you want permanently, Jareth?”

He laughs with his head thrown back—a better negotiator indeed. “I want them to train with me—become as powerful as they can be. I want the High Council members to tremble in fear, knowing that I can choose to declare war on any of them if I so wish it.” He can’t help but laugh some more at the look of horror in her eyes. “You _did_ ask, precious thing—it’s only _fair_ that I tell you the truth.”

“I’ll never let that happen.” Fire blazes in her eyes.

“Hmm,” he hums noncommittally as he stretches out his legs and rests his back languidly on the couch. “In my world, _my_ _darling mortal_ , as you well know, you either kill or _be_ killed. Which would you prefer for… _our…_ sons?”

If he’s looking for a display of rage, he isn’t going to get it—she keeps her gaze steady. Sarah Williams is ready to fight back. “I would prefer neither. Do you think they’ll go _quietly_ with you, Jareth? That they won’t _fight_ you every step of the way?” She pauses, a triumphant smile forming on her lips when he doesn’t answer her. “What about _her_? If she harms them in any way, I’ll-”

“You’ll what, _precious thing_?” he interrupts her, his mismatched eyes alight with humor. “She’s an assassin trained by the monks of the Floating Monasteries, and _you_ …you’re only mortal.”

She doesn’t back down. “Oh, I’ll find a way to make her pay, Jareth.”

He appraises her—impressed by her audacity. _Still_ , she’s no match for him. “Their _survival_ depends on aligning with me, _precious thing_ , as does yours. You may not like it, but only _I_ can guarantee your safety…especially against Raeyn.”

Just as she’s about to tell him to go to hell, the door bursts open and three blond boys come rushing in.

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sarah’s basically a sheltered, upper middle class girl, who’s been accepted to the college of her choice—she likes literature and creative writing—hasn’t really experienced too many hardships apart from parents’ divorce—she’s now focused on getting new clothes, makeup, minor furniture and trinkets for her dorm room, shoes—basically, reinventing herself as a ‘true grownup’ before starting college. [Which is what everyone does the summer before college, no?]
> 
> Jareth—the first chapter—lol, I find it amusing that J is usually the one who ‘works hard’ at sex while S just lies back and has a million orgasms (I’m guilty of writing these scenes as well). I figured, if J works hard all day and bosses everyone around, he’d like to take a backseat in the bedroom (at times).
> 
> A while ago, there was a common trope in Laby fanficverse where S gets pregnant, J has no idea, there’s a reunion years later that’s all melodramatic (there’s also a ton of anti-choice rhetoric that’s gag-worthy)—the kid is usually a sweet girl and J’s like ‘yay, I have a princess.’ I put my own twist—let Jareth deal with two 14 year old boys rather than a 5 year old prissy girl.
> 
> Random thought—why do so many sex scenes feature the words ‘so tight’ in them? The man’s like ‘so tight’ groan, groan. Do readers find it sexy? Is it b/c once you have a child, everything becomes loose down south (please tell me this is just a rumor), so people reminiscence about ‘so tight’ days nostalgically?
> 
> B/c ‘so tight’ reminds me of the very first time—which makes me think ‘ahhhhhhhh the pain’ and not ‘ahhhhhhhhhhh so sexy.’


	4. Naivety

 

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

He watches her, amused as she marvels at the night pixies that light up his garden. They migrate towards his Labyrinth during this time of year, and his entire private garden looks as if it’s lighted by millions of tiny, sparkling lights.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the glowing creatures.

He laughs—taking her hand in his. “You don’t want them to bite you, precious thing.” He finds it convenient _and_ surprising that she’s so easy to please, but she _is_ very young, he supposes.

Sarah’s eyes widen at his words. “They bite?”

He laughs some more, she just looks so… _naïve…_ so trusting. Leaning in closer, he whispers hotly into her ear, “They’re not the only ones.” He nips her earlobe playfully, smiling as she shivers—it pleases him that she’s extremely reactive to his touch.

She leans against him as he transports them to his room—her heart thuds in her chest loudly. Apart from some chaste kisses and light touches, he’s kept his distance from her ever since _that_ night. He’d told her that she was simply too young and it wouldn’t be fair of him to take advantage. One would assume her desire would die down—unfortunately, her body’s reaction is the exact opposite. Every small touch elicits a sharp thrill of pleasure, and she absolutely _burns_ for his touch.

Smiling to himself as she leans in closer, he lets out a mock-frustrated sigh. “You must keep your distance from me, precious thing. I cannot hold myself back much longer.”

She looks up at him, eyes darkened with lust. “Then don’t,” she says quietly, before letting out a startled yelp as he carries her to his bed—his grip strong enough to border on forceful, but never quite crossing that line. She finds herself on her back with him settled between her spread legs. Her breathing grows heavy as she awaits his next move.

He can _feel_ the lust and desire thrumming through her veins—with a flick of his wrist, he vanishes her clothing. A slow smile stretches his lips as a light blush spreads across her exposed flesh. “I find your modesty absolutely delightful,” he whispers before kissing her heated flesh as if he were kissing her mouth. His tongue caresses her in swift, broad strokes.

She feels her pleasure build slowly as he teases her with his mouth—his fingers outline her entrance, making her muscles twitch. Fortunately, he decides not to torture her this once, and he enters her with two fingers while simultaneously sucking on her clitoris until she screams out in release, her body convulsing with rapture.

He doesn’t give her much time to recover—looking at her through lowered lashes, he flashes her a grin before lowering his mouth to her hot center once more. His tongue moves faster this time around, his movements almost ruthless as his hands hold her thighs apart.

She cries out, her hips bucking against his ravenous mouth—she feels the knot of pleasure tightening in her lower abdomen.

“Look at me, _precious thing_ ,” he rumbles, his voice vibrating against her core. “I _need_ to look into your eyes as you go over the edge for me.”

She does as he asks—the intensity of his gaze only heightens her lust. She teeters on the edge while he stares at her for a few moments, as if he’s memorizing the lines of her face. His dual eyes gleam with cruelty— _it’s time for a different game, precious_.

“Jareth,” she whispers. “I can’t take it anymore.”

A slow smile. “What do you want from me, my darling?” His fingers stroke the arousal soaked skin of her upper thighs.

She swallows before speaking. “Make me…” her voice drifts off as her face turns bright red. She can’t bring herself to say the words.

His smile widens. “You must command me, _precious thing_ , as a _Queen_ would.”

Breath catching in her throat when she hears him say ‘Queen,’ she decides to swallow all sense of modesty. “Make me come.”

Eyes glittering with satisfaction, the Goblin King does as she commands.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers, a few hours later)…_

The golden haired assassin eyes his crystal with great amusement—she sees images of her lover seducing the mortal girl with ease. “Going by the expression on your face, I’d say you _relish_ corrupting the mortal, Your Grace.”

The Goblin King gives her a jaded look. “Your game has become tedious Raeyn, I don’t see the point in continuing it any longer.” _The girl had insisted on pleasuring him afterwards—except, with her inexperience, the act had felt entirely dispassionate, as if he were teaching her a lesson. She hadn’t been able to relax her throat muscles at all and he’d insisted she give up trying. The experience had left him terribly frustrated, both, sexually and mentally._

Raeyn grins knowingly, a hand running down his chest. “Not until she’s madly in love with you.”

“I don’t know much about love, Raeyn and neither do you. How would we even know what ‘madly in love’ looks like?” Jareth asks, irritation coating his voice.

Her eyes darken—she knows _exactly_ what she wants out of this situation. “Make her… _do things_ …for you. See how far she’s willing to go in order to please you.”

He considers this with a raised brow.

She smiles, her hands snake around his waist. “Perhaps it’s time she plays with your courtiers, Jareth.”

His breathing deepens as she caresses him through the rough fabric of his pants. The thought of watching the wide-eyed mortal navigating through his merciless court excites him…but it also awakens another emotion deep within him. An _unfamiliar_ one.

She sees something flash in his eyes—without giving him a chance to process the feeling, she pounces, making sure to sate the need the mortal had aroused.

\--                                           

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“Toby!” Sarah stands up, her arms crossed, as she stares down her younger brother—who has the good grace to look sheepish. “It’s been less than an hour.”

Toby holds his ground—his jaw hardens. “Sorry Sar. We got worried.”

The Goblin King quietly watches his pair of unruly haired sons—their pale, ice blue eyes narrow as they notice their mother’s face.

Michael, as usual, is the first one to speak. “Are you alright?”

As annoyed as she is, Sarah can’t help but smile at his concern. “Yes. The three of you can march right back outside until we’re done with our conversation.”

“If I may,” Jareth interrupts, a slow smile twisting his lips as pin drop silence envelopes the small living room. “Perhaps Tobias should leave the premises, unless of course, you want him involved, Sarah. I suspect you wouldn’t, as you know he’s already… _touched…_ by my magic.”

Quick to react, Toby glares at the arrogant monarch—anger overriding fear. “If you think I’m going to leave her here with you-”

“He’s right, Tobes,” Sarah cuts in, her voice soft but firm. “It’s _my_ fault that you were touched by his magic in the first place, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Toby opens his mouth to argue, but decides against it—he’s argued with Sarah enough times to realize that she’ll _never_ let up. Besides, he understands it’s probably best if he allows them some privacy at the moment. “Promise you’ll call me once he leaves,” he demands.

Sarah nods—the Goblin King smiles sharply at this small victory. “Until next time,” he says, lowering his head to give the furious young man a mock bow.

 _This_ time, however, Toby doesn’t let his anger get the best of him. “Goblin King,” he says with a nod. He looks at his nephews one last time before leaving. “Make sure she’s okay. I’ll see you guys later.”

\--

Michael’s jaw drops open when he hears Toby address the man as ‘Goblin King.’ Just as he’s about to say something, Alex puts a hand on his brother’s arm and gives him a barely perceptible shake. That’s enough to silence him.

Taking in a deep breath, Sarah calms herself down and settles her resolve. She’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t be one of those parents who allows their children to be the ‘adult’ in the relationship—she hasn’t so far, and she’s not going to start now. She’s not going to turn into an anxious mess in front of her children. “Boys,” she says, her voice strong, gesturing for them to sit down.

Jareth eyes the exchange with curiosity—still as quiet as ever, Alex hasn’t said anything, but it’s fairly clear that Michael listens to him.

Sarah turns to Jareth once the boys are seated. “This is… _Jareth_ ,” she says after a long pause, she can’t bring herself to say ‘your father.’ “He has something to say to you.”

Michael turns his combative gaze onto Jareth, while Alex eyes him with cold precision—studying him, almost.

Pursing his lips, Jareth stars back at the twin pair of icy blue eyes, suddenly unsure of his words. He hadn’t expected to be in a situation such as this, _ever_. “Michael, Alexander,” he addresses both of them, “I’m sure you’re _bright_ enough to have realized that I am your-”

A burst of rancorous laughter interrupts his speech, and the Goblin King fixes his piercing gaze onto one of his sons. “And _what_ do you find so amusing, Michael?”

Michael quiets down, but a wide grin remains on his face. “I find it fucking hilarious that you’re about to give us the ‘Luke, I’m your father’ speech.”

Unable to understand the reference, Jareth looks at his other son, surprised to see him smile as well. His eyebrows furrow into a frown and he turns to Sarah with mild annoyance.

“Michael,” Sarah chides, shaking her head. “This is serious, stop interrupting.” She turns towards the Goblin King, “Jareth wants something from both of you—the sooner he tells you, the sooner he can leave.”

“But-” Michael begins, but he is silenced by Alex’s hand on his arm, once again.

The quieter of the twins rises from his seated position and appraises his father calculatingly. “You’re the Goblin King,” Alex states, rather than asks. “The same one from mom’s red book.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to gape. She’d made it a point to keep the damned book under lock and key so no one would find it. “How do you know about the book?”

“We…uh… _found_ it in your safe,” Michael blurts out, cringing as his mother turns to glare at him.

Sarah sighs. “I’m not going to ask _how_ you two were able to open the safe,” she eyes both of them sternly, “But we’ll talk about this later.”

A dark chuckle rumbles out Jareth’s chest. “Getting to the point…the two of you must have certain abilities that seem strange and unusual to you.”

“So?” Alex asks with a shrug. “What’s it to you?”

An amused brow. “ _So_ , the fact remains that the two of you aren’t mortal…and as such, you cannot live in this realm.”

A small smile twists the corners of Alex’s lips—“You haven’t gotten to the point. What do you want from us?”

A louder chuckle rumbles from Jareth’s chest, the rich sound reverberating against the walls of the tiny apartment. “What makes you believe I want anything from you, Alexander?”

Alex’s smile fades and his eyes turn uncannily expressionless. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jareth grins at the boy, his sharp teeth on full display. “Very impressive. Your… _mother_ …and I were _well acquainted_ a while ago, but she chose to leave without saying goodbye. As you’ve surmised, I am the Goblin King, and that makes you my heirs if you are legitimized.” He notices how both pairs of eyes blaze with anger when he mentions Sarah— _loyal indeed_.

“What the hell do you want?” Michael speaks up, his arms crossed.

Jareth’s grin widens. “And here I thought I was being perfectly clear—I want both of you to return with me, where you belong.” His intense gaze drifts over to Sarah. “You, as well, _precious thing_.”

Michael gapes, and turns to his brother, who looks grim. It’s Alex who speaks, his face carved out of marble, “No.”

Raising a discerning brow, Jareth looks at Sarah, who has a serene smile on her face. She’d been correct—they weren’t going to make this easy. “Perhaps you can explain the…precariousness _…_ of their situation.” Saying that, he stands up gracefully, in one fluid motion. “I shall make all required preparations with the High Council.”

Sarah merely shrugs, still seated, her expression calm. “We need to discuss this among ourselves, Jareth,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We’ll speak the next time you’re here.”

Jareth eyes her acutely for a brief moment, before nodding—there’s no point in arguing with the woman right now, he’ll have plenty of time for that later. With a sharp gesture of his wrist, he conjures up a crystal and places it on the side table. “For your protection.” That’s all he says before disappearing in a flash of light.

“Alright, get up,” Sarah says, the second Jareth disappears—she knows the boys are going to throw a thousand questions her way, so she’ll have to distract them quickly. “We’re going to the filthy burger place, four blocks down, that you love so much.”

Michael’s ears perk up at that. “ _Seriously_? But you never let us eat there!” His mother is a bit of a health freak, so the list of restaurants they’re ‘allowed’ to dine in, definitely doesn’t include shady burger joints.

Alex rolls his eyes. “It’s a bribe, moron.”

Sarah grins—that kid is _way_ too smart for his own good. “That’s right,” she says, grabbing her coat. “The offer’s only on the table for five seconds, so five, four, three-”

The boys rush out of the apartment without saying another word.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

Staring out into his Labyrinth, the Goblin King drains a goblet of mead before pouring himself another. When he’d sensed a familiar pull from the Aboveground, he hadn’t expected… _well_ , he hadn’t expected to meet his children. Clenching his fists, he drains the goblet again before crushing it with his bare hand—reducing it to dust.

It had taken centuries of carefully cultivated self-control not to simply take all three of them from the human realm. He knows that wouldn’t serve his purpose in the least—they would fight him at every turn, and _that_ would be a waste of energy.

_Sarah Williams has managed to surprise him yet again._

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And the French Open is upon us. Rafa! Rafa! Rafa! His game’s looking fucking amazing. *Fingers crossed.*
> 
> With Sarah—I either had to go with sheltered to the point of nativity (read, stupidity) or the ‘traitorous body’ syndrome. It’s very easy for J to manipulate her—he finds it hilarious and contemptible that she’s so naïve. I just can’t stomach the second trope—Sarah’s all like: ‘help, traitorous body just won’t let me say no when you mouth-rape my vagina’ moan, moan…1000 orgasms later…‘I wanna push you away, but your giant dick keeps giving me orgasms’ eek ‘stupid traitorous, tight vagina.’
> 
> Anyways, she’ll grow into her personality once she gets shoved headfirst into adulthood.
> 
> Also—beautiful dumb bitch girlfriend trope. Basically: pretty, tall, skinny, with boobs that defy gravity, self-assured ex-lover = stupid slut, jealous bitch—while plain, shy, insecure, nerdy, Sarah = Jareth’s romantic fantasy personified. Because what gorgeous monarch wouldn’t want the latter for a wife?
> 
> I want an amazing jealous bitch villain—one who can fight dirty, and with half a brain. And a gorgeous Sarah who can fight back with stealth and cunning. I want them both to have enough dignity that they’re not throwing themselves at Jareth to be his Queen—even he has his own agenda. He has more deviously sexy villainous things to do than hurl misogynistic insults at his ex-lovers.
> 
> Also—what’s with fics where Sarah is super inexperienced (or a flat out virgin) but gives amazeballs blowjobs? Like it’s her super power or something. Technically, J should be terrified she’s going to bite him by reflex, esp if he has an abnormally massive, elephant’s trunk sized penis.
> 
> And names—I went with Michael and Alexander. In most of these ‘Jareth’s long lost daughter reunion’ fics, the names are just…so klassy. I went with classic names and not the male equivalent of Tiffenee Jenaleelynn Destinee Bethenee BrandeeleeMclynn Williams (slight exaggeration—but your basic ‘hooker in a truck stop bathroom’ names…not even the interesting kind who’re secret serial killers).


	5. Disillusionment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: lurkers…say something…I’m giving up on you. Kidding, lol. That’s one whiny song. Anyway, give me some thoughts.

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

He stares at the young mortal as she dances with a dark haired courtier…an insignificant one. For the last week, he’s opened up a portal through her dresser mirror, so she can easily transport herself into his world. Not exactly legal on his part, but he doubts the High Council will reprimand him for this.

_For the first few days, he’d instructed his Court to be kind—on their best behavior, so to speak. She’d been shy meeting so many beautiful strangers at the beginning, then she’d become more comfortable. The next few days, he’d asked him to toy with her a little while he sat back and enjoyed her reactions._

Today is no different. He understands that the progression of the game must be adequately slow, or else the innocent little mortal will surely bolt for her life.

A condescending smile twists his lips as he recalls how she blushes every time a courtier says something suggestive. The language used only _borders_ on suggestive, the tone _lightly_ salacious—so she looks at him with her round, green eyes, confused. _What are they saying_? His smile deepens—he mostly answers by telling her that perhaps she is too young for his court, that perhaps she should not enter his world until a decade or so has passed. And that _particular_ tactic always works to his advantage. It takes her less than a second to beg and plead that she be allowed to stay. That she _isn’t_ too young, and she adamantly swears that she understands his world.

_Poor lamb. She doesn’t—not in the least._

“Your Grace, may I have a word?”

The Goblin King tilts his head as he addresses one of his Council members—“Esiel. I’m surprised to find you here—I was under the impression you didn’t like my dinners.”

Esiel grits his teeth as he looks at the King, who stares back coolly. “I would like to speak of Vyrenis, Your Grace.”

Jareth raises a brow, his face an implacable mask.

“I believe he was murdered,” Esiel bites out. “It’s only a matter of time until I prove it.”

A deep sigh. “Lord Esiel,” Jareth says, his voice mockingly reproachful. “I understand Vyrenis, his sister, and you shared a… _unique_ relationship. You must put your emotions aside and let Vyrenis lie in peace. The Council has agreed that no foul play was discovered.”

Esiel lets out a humorless laugh—he understands, very well, the game the King plays. “Then you must have hired _her_ , Your Grace.”

“Your delusions are quite entertaining, Esiel,” Jareth replies with a laugh of his own. “However, they are false. I would suggest that you do not spend your time and resources trying to prove that _she_ killed him.”

Esiel lets that go—he has something else to discuss. “The Council has drafted a new charter on behalf of the nobles. I would suggest you read it before attending the meeting tomorrow…Your Grace.”

Cocking his head to the side, Jareth gives his Council member a sly grin. “Or perhaps I shall delay the Council meeting until it pleases me—and even so, perhaps I shall outright refuse this charter of yours. Unless, of course, you help me out with a small problem.”

“What is it?” Esiel asks, his fists clenched.

Jareth’s face breaks out into a predatory smile, he sits up on his throne. “Do you see the mortal dancing with…I don’t recall his name…the dark haired courtier?”

Turning to follow the King’s gaze, Esiel nods as he sees the mortal. She’s little more than a child.

“I want you to kiss her as if you are kissing Vyrenis himself,” Jareth commands, his voice melodic and low, the gleam in his dual eyes cold and cruel. “Or, I suppose I should say _used_ to kiss Vyrenis as he’s no longer with us.”

\--

 Her eyes search for him as she dances with someone else, yet again. He’d told her to enjoy herself…and then he’d promptly excused himself from her presence. She frowns, her chest tightening with overwhelming emotion, _has she done something wrong?_

Flushing in embarrassment, she remembers the utterly humiliating fiasco of trying to take him in her mouth. He hasn’t touched her since…or even kissed her for that matter. Tears prick the backs of her eyes and she forces them down with all her strength. _Perhaps he finds her too innocent…not worth the effort._

Just as she’s about to excuse herself, she feels a pair of strong hands on her shoulders. “How are you faring, _precious thing_?” he whispers in her ear.

Shivering as she feels his hot breath on her exposed neck, she turns around—he looks at her, his eyes warm. “Um…fine…Your Grace.” The title rolls off strangely from her tongue.

He sweeps her into his arms for the next dance, her former partner scurries off without being told a word. “My beloved creature,” he whispers, “I wish you wouldn’t be so formal with me.”

Smiling up at him, she nods. _She’d been wrong to doubt his feelings for her_.

They dance in silence, holding each other’s gazes, until the song ends and he places her in the arms of another man. “I have some matters to attend to, my love,” he tells her, “In the meantime, I believe Esiel will make an excellent dancing partner.” Saying that, he disappears from her view.

Esiel discerns the mortal with keen interest—there’s something about her that seems familiar. Most mortals give off an aura that’s different—something that immediately alerts their _foreignness_ in this realm. Not this one. “I am Lord Esiel, my Lady,” he says with a short bow of his head.

Smiling nervously, Sarah replies, “I’m Sarah.” The man is as tall as Jareth, his hair the color of autumn leaves and his skin the color of the inside of an almond. His features are perhaps more masculine than Jareth’s and his eyes the color of freshly polished copper. Definitely non-human.

“Lady Sarah,” he says with flourish, eliciting a smile from her. “Shall we get some refreshments?” Esiel wonders what the Goblin King could possibly want with the mortal. Taking her hand, he leads her to a darkened corner. _Why is he playing with this particular one_? He hands her a glass of apple wine and smiles as she makes a face—she’s so young, she’s not used to the taste of alcohol.

“So…should we find Jar…I mean His Majesty?” she asks with a nervous stutter.

 “Lady Sarah,” Esiel speaks slowly, his voice holding a seductive lilt. The poor thing is clearly anxious—he doesn’t want to prolong her agony. “I find you absolutely enchanting—may I kiss you?”

Sarah gapes. _He’d asked if he could kiss her!?_ “No,” she says, pulling away.

His eyes light up with amusement. “Why ever not?”

She frowns at the question. “Because I’m with…er…dating…the…” her voice drifts off, _what is she doing with Jareth?_

Esiel studies the stumbling girl in front of him. _Does the poor thing actually believe she is with the King_? He doesn’t wish to be a part of the game any longer. “Come,” he says quietly, “I shall take you to His Majesty.”

\--

_(A few minutes later, Jareth’s chambers)…_

Sarah’s mouth falls wide open as Jareth laughs at her concern. “He just flat out asked me if he could kiss me,” she says again—perhaps he didn’t hear it correctly the first time around. “Just like that,” she adds with a snap of her fingers.

Stalking towards her slowly, Jareth smiles as he sees her clench her fists. _The situation was finally beginning to get interesting_. “Well, why _didn’t_ you, _precious creature_?”

Her face flushes deep red. “Because, I’m with…I thought we were. Um…I thought we were together,” she mumbles, the blush spreading down her neck.

He pulls her into an embrace, his lips hot on her neck, and his tongue fluttering out to taste her delectable skin. “How do you know you _wouldn’t_ want to kiss him, Sarah?” he asks, his hands trailing down her body until he holds her hips.

“Because I want you! _Only_ you,” she cries with all the conviction of an infatuated 18-year-old. Feeling his wet mouth on her shoulder, she gasps—his hands push the sleeves of her dress down until the bodice pools around her waist. She closes her eyes as she feels his fingers trace patterns on her breasts.

“Oh Sarah,” he says, kissing his way down her chest—taking a rosy nipple into his mouth, and then the other. Sucking her skin just enough that the blood pools to the surface, and heightens her pleasure. “You’re too young to be so sure.” Saying that, he closes his mouth over a small breast and nips the tip with his sharp teeth. “Look at yourself, my precious thing.”

She opens her eyes—startled as she sees her reflection on an intricately framed, full length mirror that’s just appeared in front her. He stands behind her, his mouth at the base of her neck and his hands on her breasts.

“You called for me, Your Grace.” An unfamiliar voice calls out from the door, making her jump. She rushes to cover her upper body, but he holds her arms in place.

“Wait,” he tells the courtier outside the door, his eyes drinking in her discomfort and mortification. “Sarah,” he whispers against her skin, “Calm down, little lamb.”

A strange fear overtakes Sarah—but her body is still aroused. The two emotions make her blood run hot. Just as she’s about to say something, he places his fingers on her lips.

“Shhh, my beloved,” he rumbles. “You are very young Sarah, so _very_ innocent. You may think you only want to kiss me, that you only wish to feel my touch—but the reality is that you don’t even _know_ the touch of another. You have no basis of comparison.”

She shivers at his familiar words. “I don’t need-”

“Hush,” he says, a hint of a command in his otherwise lilting voice. “I would never be with you if I were to believe I was _hindering_ your life. By making you feel as if _my_ touch is _superior_ to that of others, I am doing just that.” He places open mouthed kisses on the back of her neck. “I should leave you alone, _precious thing_ —it’s so very wicked of me to alter your life as such.”

She balks at that. “Don’t ever say that,” she exclaims, her voice passionate.

“Then prove it to me, _precious thing_.” His eyes glitter with triumph— _she’s about to take the bait_. “Prove that I haven’t hindered your life.”

She raises her brows. “But how?”

A charming smile. “Kiss another—feel the touch of another, and _then_ tell me you want only me. Are you able to say yes to that, Sarah?”

After a very long pause, she nods, her face as crimson as the skin of an apple.

Jareth grins. His hands knead the flesh of her breasts before covering them with his long fingered hands. “Come in,” he says to the courtier waiting outside.

\--                                           

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

She raises the wine glass to her lips, her shaky hands making the richly colored liquid slosh. She’d sent the boys to her dad’s place with Toby—the protective spells around the house would keep them safe. The day had gone better than she’d anticipated—she’d answered all of their questions. Well…the appropriate ones. Prior to this, the only thing she’d told them about _him_ was that he was dangerous and she would protect them. She scoffs at herself—she’s just proved how inadequate she is in protecting them against him.

Alone in her now quiet apartment, the lights dimmed, her emotions get the best of her. The cool façade breaks and tears flow from her eyes. All her life, she’s worked so hard at protecting herself, her family, raising her sons while going to school, spending many a sleepless night parenting and studying for the LSATs and subsequently law school… _all for what_? Just so he could show up one day and dismantle _everything_ she’s created.

“Don’t cry so, my darling.” The Goblin King’s deep voice rumbles into the quiet room as he appears, his intense gaze fixed on the woman in front of him. “This is only the beginning.”

Her heartrate shooting up, she tries composing herself before speaking. “Why are you here?”

He saunters to the arm chair across from her and sinks down. “The High Council has agreed to hear my case for legitimization.”

She glares at him—her gaze as sharp as jagged glass. “When?”

He only smiles, unfazed by her anger. “In three days. As I said earlier, your presence is required.”

“And theirs?”

“Not yet,” he tells her.

She lets out a breath in relief and takes a large sip of her wine. “I failed…” she says to no one in particular, her gaze hazy. “I thought I’d protect them from you and I failed.”

His gaze softens just a little. “It would have been an impossible task, precious thing.”

She looks up to glare at him once again, her eyes sharper this time. “I’m not surprised to find that you still think so highly of yourself.”

He laughs at her. “I suppose not.” Just as he’s about to say something else, a blinking device next to her starts making a strange noise. The name Robert flashes on the screen— _her father_ , he remembers.

She swipes her phone, “Thanks for calling back so soon….no, it’s something important,” she pauses as he speaks. “We need to talk about that lease you were going to sign next week….I’d thought I could come over tonight.” She pauses and laughs, “Sure, you choose the movie this time. I—I love you too. Bye.”

The Goblin King raises a perfectly arched brow as he studies the exchange. Not her father, then. “Your paramour?”

She rolls her eyes at the word. “You could say that. He’d asked us to move in with him, but I think it’s best if we skip that for now.”

His eyes narrow. “We…as in the three of you?” Rage ignites in his chest— _his sons, being cared for by a mortal man?!_ And then his thoughts veer towards her… He clenches his fists.

“He’s not your concern, Jareth,” she says dismissively.

Swallowing down his anger, he speaks, his voice calm. “You love him?”

Laughing harshly at his question, she looks him in the eyes, her gaze unwavering. “As much as I’m capable—I don’t think I can love the way a _normal_ person does. Not after what you did to me….I suppose that’s not very fair to him.”

Her words hit their mark and he flinches. “I would move the very stars to apologize, my love.” His voice holds uncharacteristic tenderness.

“Don’t bother. What’s done is done,” she replies with a shake of her head. She sits up, straightening her back. “Is that all?”

He takes in her image—a part of him is pleased that she’s regained her composure. “For now, precious thing,” he says, standing up. “I shall see you in three days.”

She stares at the empty space that he’d occupied, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Sighing wearily, she grabs her coat and an overnight bag—she doesn’t want to be alone…not tonight. Picking up her phone, she dials her lover. “Robert? Yup, I’m on my way.”

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

Looking into the fire, his eyes lost in memories, the Goblin King feels his thoughts stray towards Sarah and her mortal lover…the man she is meeting tonight. He can’t help but wonder what she’d feel like as an adult, how her body would move against his…

Conjuring up a crystal only to smash it against the wall, the Goblin King rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration.

_Of all the mistakes he’d made in his long life, Sarah Williams is probably the one he regrets the most._

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: J is very predatory in the first half—a jaded predator trying to find an interesting way to torment someone while amusing himself. I’m glad you guys find him skeevy. Because he is. Exceptionally.
> 
> And S, while she is silly enough to fall for J, she is not planning on abandoning her college/career/life plans so she can be J’s queen and start having babies at 18. She…er…wasn’t raised to find that kind of life appealing.  
> 
> Robert—real estate lawyer. Karen—professor in the local, state college who starts working part time once Sarah gives birth (for support, so Sarah can go to college). Linda—a lead actress in a long running day time soap (she helped in buying Sarah’s apt and pays for the boys’ schooling).
> 
> This premise got me thinking that a family wouldn’t just need financial resources when dealing with a teen pregnancy—they’d also need time. Someone would have to stay home while the kid goes to college or else she’ll end up as a Walmart salesperson.
> 
> What does adult Sarah look like?
> 
> Look up Jenn Connelly, The Hulk premiere. Also, we’re going to JC’s natural skin type—which is the kind to get a very light shade of bronze in the sun. Assume, she’s quite outdoorsy with her sons—plays tennis / basketball on the weekends. Two boys would have a ton of energy so she’d have to learn to exhaust them (and sports is a great way to do that). Michael is in his school’s lacrosse team.
> 
> Speaking of sports—that’s another fanfic trope I hate. Evil ‘jocks’ who are all potential rapists or bullies. Ridiculous. Sports is a great way to get rid of aggression, build discipline, and express your competitive side. I’ve never understood this deep seated hate for sports and athletes in the fanfic writing community.
> 
> What did you guys do on family vacations? My family members would probably end up killing each other if it weren’t for tennis.
> 
> OMG. There’s a Nadal, Thiem match on tonight. It’s going to be insane.


	6. Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.
> 
> AN: I am amazed at the reviews I’ve received for this fic—love it! Thanks for taking the time guys. I’ve always preferred quality to quantity when it comes to reviews—and you guys definitely deliver quality.

 

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

_Jareth grins. His hands knead the flesh of her breasts before covering them with his long fingered hands. “Come in,” he says to the courtier waiting outside._

Sarah gives out a startled squeak when a man enters the room—the same man she’s danced with most of the night. He wears a royal blue jacket with matching pants, his dark hair is artfully mussed. However, he wears a silk band around his eyes.

“Do not tremble so, _precious thing_ ,” Jareth whispers, laying kisses against her ear. “He shall not see you—it doesn’t suit his purpose.” A hint of a smirk twists his lips as he feels her relax just a little. The blindfold works to put her at ease, just as he’d expected. “Come here, Crexien,” he commands the young courtier, who obeys him without question.

She stares in wonder as the courtier takes off his jacket and loosens his shirt collar, exposing his neck and chest—she knows she’s agreed to continue with what Jareth has in mind, but she suddenly feels nauseous. Her heart hammers in her chest so loudly, she’s sure they can hear it.

Jareth hides a smile as he senses her renewed discomfort. If he manages to get her to act according to his plans tonight, he can put an end to this farce—Raeyn’s game would come to an end. “Do not fret, _precious one_ ,” he whispers, letting go of the mortal and making his way to the courtier. “It’s only a kiss, after all.” Saying that, he trails his fingers down Crexien’s face and kisses him sensuously on the lips.

Sarah’s mouth goes dry. She feels a multitude of sensations—arousal, jealousy, curiosity, intrigue—simultaneously. It’s too much for her young mind to take. “Jareth,” she whispers, “I don’t think I can…” her voice dies out when she sees him deepen the kiss.

Jareth smiles—a cat toying with a mouse—as he sees conflicting emotions flit across her expressive face. “Come, _precious thing_ ,” he croons, his voice the very definition of temptation. “See how this feels.”

Taking tentative steps, she walks over to them—she allows Jareth to place one of her hands on the courtier’s chest, and the other in his dark hair. And then he leaves her there, making sure she takes the final step for herself.

Breathing deeply, Sarah stands on her tip toes and kisses the courtier on the lips—a closed mouth kiss.

“Oh, my _darling_ girl,” Jareth lilts with an amused laugh. “You must do better than _that_.”

Fighting the combined sensations of nausea and fear, Sarah kisses the courtier again, this time, opening her mouth just a little—it’s enough for him to gently stroke her tongue with his own. One of his hands caresses her naked breast, tugging on her erect nipple lightly enough to create a pleasurable sense of longing that makes her body ache with need. Even so, she can’t help but feel sick to her stomach— _she doesn’t want this_.

As Crexien kisses his way down the mortal’s neck, he feels her tremble uncontrollably—not out of desire. He wonders just how much longer he should continue.

Sarah pulls herself away from the courtier forcefully—shivers run down her spine as she falls onto her knees. Her vision swims and her stomach roils, making her dry heave. “I’m sorry,” she whispers once the feeling of nausea passes—she can’t bring herself to look Jareth in the eyes. “I feel sick—please don’t make me leave.” She’s absolutely terrified that he’ll send her away thinking she can’t live up to his expectations. The thought brings tears to her eyes and her face is suddenly drenched with the onslaught of her emotions.

Cocking his head to the side, Jareth eyes her sudden display of emotion with a twinge in his chest. He sighs as he strides towards her, his movements graceful as ever. Kneeling next to her, he places his hands on her shoulders, he kisses the base of her neck. “Shh,” he murmurs, his hands pulling up the sleeves of her dress, and sliding them up her arms. “I would never make you do anything you find uncomfortable, _precious thing_.” He looks at the courtier for a fraction of a second. “Leave,” that’s all he says as a command.

\--

_(An hour later)…_

The Goblin King frowns as he studies at the mortal—the girl had been so utterly distraught that he’d had to force her to drink a mug of mead. She’d promptly fallen asleep, and he’d carried her to bed. _His_ bed. Jareth’s frown deepens—the sight of her so broken had stirred something within him. He hadn’t liked it.

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts.

“Enter,” he commands, a smile on his lips as he sees _her_ enter his chambers. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Raeyn? Should I be concerned for my Court, are you here on some… _assignment_?” He places a spell around the mortal so that she stays asleep.

The assassin shakes her head. “I was called by Taro—she wanted me to be present for the Goblin Council meeting…” she smiles as he climbs out of bed and stalks towards her. “I was surprised not to see you there, Your Grace.”

He grins wolfishly. “They’ve been discussing Vyrenis’s death for the last few sessions, and I find myself _completely_ unconcerned by the topic.”

She laughs at the private joke—he’d ordered Vyrenis dead, and she’d carried out the order. The Council meetings were only a formality, they’d _never_ be able to find any proof of wrongdoing. “Is Taro taking Vyrenis’s place?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, she doesn’t have his pull. The Council will function as it was meant to—to suit _my_ whims.” The mortal stirs in her sleep, catching his attention for a fleeting moment. “I believe I have fulfilled my part of our little agreement, Raeyn. The girl has been… _sufficiently_ …corrupted.”

Raeyn smiles demurely as she sees the sleeping girl. “She doesn’t look as if she’s been corrupted, Your Grace.” Her gaze sharpens as she awaits his response.

He gives her a nonchalant shrug. “I stopped her—I’d rather _not_ have to deal with a hysterical mortal girl for the _entire_ night.” Gripping Raeyn’s hips with his hands, he kisses her _hard_ , his touch bordering on violent. In spite of her little outburst, the mortal has ignited a burning, all-consuming need within him and he _needs_ release.

Laughing merrily, Raeyn jumps out of his embrace. “You seem a little frustrated, Your Grace,” she sing-songs, as if she knows the effect the mortal has on him. “Yet you didn’t take what was offered to you so freely—why _is_ that, _Jareth_?” She purposely uses his name to grab his attention.

It works. The King loses himself in his thoughts once more as he contemplates his actions. He hadn’t indeed taken what the mortal had offered—instead, he’d sought to put her at ease. “Enough about the mortal, Raeyn,” he dismisses, getting increasingly annoyed at the confusion he feels. “Your game has come to an end. I shall send her back soon enough.”

Raeyn’s eyes dance with laughter. “Are you so sure, Your Grace—perhaps the game has simply _changed_?” She lets him catch her—she twines her long legs with his so their lower bodies are caught in a tangled embrace. She can feel the evidence of his desire press into her center.

Closing his eyes at the pleasure of her touch, he entwines a hand through her long golden hair, and grips her waist with the other. “Explain yourself,” he commands, kissing her deeply before she can speak.

There’s a gleam in her eyes that isn’t quite humor, nor calculation—it’s a strange combination of both. “You are _concerned_ for this mortal, Your Grace,” she says, smiling as his eyes widen. “Perhaps you feel something _more_ than concern, perhaps you feel _affection_ for her.” She moves to kiss him once more, but he shoves her away with an icy expression in his eyes.

Raeyn’s words draw an uncharacteristically irrational response out of him—he feels _immense_ anger coupled with an emotion close to regret. “You have no basis to assume as such.”

His reaction makes her smile from ear to ear. “Of course not, Your Grace, you may end the game if you so desire,” she lilts, satisfied that she’s accomplished her mission. The seeds of doubt have been planted in his head. “Let’s not speak of the mortal Jareth, not when I’d rather…” she unties the complicated fastenings of her top and steps out of her clothing slowly, her movements meant to entice.

He reaches her before she can unfasten her pants. “Allow me, Raeyn.” Saying that, he divulges Raeyn of her clothing.

The King and his assassin spend the next few hours in the pursuit of mutual pleasure—the mortal lies asleep in the King’s bed, still under his spell.

\--

_(Hours later, Jareth’s chambers)…_

He wonders what to make of Raeyn’s words—does he feel _affection_ for the mortal? Does he _care_ for her? The thought makes him furious. He’ll not only be the laughing stock of the Goblin Council, but the entire High Council as well. His hands ball into fists and a low growl escapes his throat. He _doesn’t_ care for Sarah Williams.

And he’ll prove it soon enough.

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“Ms. Williams, if you want our protective spells, you will have to tell us what exactly it is you want protection from.”

Massaging her temples with her fingers, Sarah tries alleviating a pounding headache. “It’s not _what_ , it’s _whom_ ,” Sarah responds, wondering just how much information to divulge to the small woman sitting across from her. “And I’d rather not tell you—you wouldn’t react well. I’ll double the payment.”

Celestina Perrot raises her salt and pepper brows, wondering what to make of her client’s sudden request for a change in services.

_The woman had been a child of eighteen when she’d come to Hazelwood and Thorn, utterly terrified. She’d asked for protection from the Underground, for herself and her family, but she hadn’t been able to pay for the powerful spells that such a protection required. Still, they’d been able to come to an understanding once Celestina had discovered that Sarah possessed a unique sort of magic of her own._

“You realize such a payment would render you very weak, Sarah,” Celestina reminds her client sternly—she’s not one to discourage clients, but Sarah has always paid in magical energy, and she is left drained every time.

Sarah shrugs. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Who needs protection?”

“My father, his wife, my mother, my brother, and Robert, my…” she can’t quite call a 42-year-old man her boyfriend, “…lover.” She cringes, the word sounds ridiculous to her ears.

Celestina seems surprised. “What of you and your sons?”

“We don’t require anything,” Sarah says, her voice dismissive. “My dad’s house would require protection, and Robert’s apartment as well.”

“When would you be able to do a transfer?” Celestina asks, business is business, she supposes. If Sarah Williams wants to weaken herself to such a degree, there is nothing she can do about it.

Standing up, Sarah replies, “Now.”

\--

_(Late afternoon, Sarah’s apartment)…_

“What the hell happened to mom?” Michael all but yells as he returns home after lacrosse practice, much to his uncle’s chagrin. He eyes his mother anxiously, who looks as if she’s dead asleep on the couch, her usually glowing skin is a deathly shade of pale.

“Keep your voice down,” Toby uses his ‘uncle voice’ on his nephew, knowing full well it won’t work. They’re only four and a half years apart, so they’ve grown up almost as siblings. “She went to Hazelwood and Thorn, you know what happens to her after that.”

Alex sits next to his mother, a look of quiet determination on his face—he takes one of her hands into his own. “She’s never been this bad.”

“She required some extra services, so she had to pay more,” Toby says angrily. If _he_ hadn’t come back into her life, she wouldn’t have to do any of this. “In the meantime, she said you can order dinner from wherever you want.”

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

Toby sighs as he looks at his quieter nephew. “I’m sure she’ll talk to you about everything once she regains her strength,” he says, hoping the two will let the topic pass. “This is one of the few times you can eat whatever you want—so, what’ll be?”

Michael shakes his head, his anxious eyes still fixed on his mother. “I’d rather eat kale for a month than have mom so weak.”

Both, Toby and Alex can’t help but laugh at that—Sarah usually threatens bloody murder to get Michael to eat his greens. Just as the three boys are going through the stack of takeout menus on the kitchen desk, a cold wave of magic fills the room, and they’re alerted to the Goblin King’s presence.

Jareth looks at the woman, his eyes narrow, before turning to the young men who stare back at him—their expressions fierce. “What happened to her?” he asks, his words simple but with an undercurrent of anger. The protection spell he’d cast in her pathetically small living quarters had alerted him of her weakened body.

Taking a step in front of his nephews, Toby takes on a protective stance. “Not your concern, Goblin King,” he says, fighting to keep his voice neutral. Sarah had given strict instructions on what to do in case he showed up—she’d be pissed if she found out he had gone against them. “She’ll be ready for your High Council day after tomorrow. She said I should… _instruct_ …you to leave if you showed up before that.”

Jareth pays the young man no mind as he walks towards her, taking her hand like Alex had earlier. He knows _immediately_ what’s made her so weak.

“You need to leave,” Toby repeats, unsure of what to do.

Alex watches the exchange with a frown on his face, while Michael rushes to his mother and pulls her hand out of Jareth’s grasp. “Get – the fuck – away from mom.” His pale eyes blaze with icy fire and he bares his teeth.

Groaning in frustration, Toby rushes to Michael’s side and grabs him forcefully. “Go back to the kitchen, Michael.” He looks at Jareth, surprised to see a look of mild amusement on his harsh face. “You should leave, she doesn’t want you here.”

“I can heal her,” the Goblin King states, a frown on his face as he notices the dark circles under her eyes. _What would make the headstrong mortal leech out her magic like that?_

Pursing his lips, Toby wonders what he should do—on one hand, she’ll be pissed once she knows he hadn’t acted as per her instructions. On the other hand, he hates seeing her so weakened. He looks at Alex, a silent question on his face.

Alex walks over to his brother and places a hand on his shoulder before he can say anything—he then looks at the wild haired man. “Would she _want_ you to heal her?” he asks.

Jareth smiles at the question. “No. But I’d rather not see her in pain.”

Toby can’t help but let out a sardonic bark of laughter—Sarah’d told him about her experience with the Goblin King. _Well_ , she’d left out certain details, but he had been old enough to guess what they were. “Fuck off. I know what you did with her.”

Michael, who’s remained uncharacteristically silent for the last few minutes, clenches his fists. The more he learns about this man, his so-called father, the angrier he gets. “ _What_ did you do?”

A small smile twists Jareth’s lips as he sees Michael’s temper flare, while Alex remains calm and collected. He can feel the sheer strength of their magic thrum against his skin. At such a young age, it’s almost unheard of—even in twice bonded twins. “Would you like me to unbind your magic, Michael?” Jareth croons, his smile widening when the boy doesn’t answer him. _He’s curious_.

“Sarah wouldn’t want that,” Toby intervenes quickly before either of the boys can answer.

Jareth raises a brow, but doesn’t push the matter. “Why has she done this to herself?”

“That’s how she pays for protection.” That’s all Toby says, but it’s enough.

The Goblin King rises from his seated position, his eyes stormy, a wild look of fury etches the lines of his magnificent face. He turns towards his sons, who take a step back—they’ve never seen him like _this_ before. “Have you ever had this done to you as well?”

Michael shakes his head and Alex speaks, “No. They only shut off our… _magic_. We visit them once a year and they make us do some weird things—the buzzing goes down after that.” They don’t know much of magic or how it works, but going to Hazelwood and Thorn has been a constant routine in their lives. Almost like going to the doctor’s for a yearly checkup.

Taking her hand into his once more, the Goblin King transfers some of his own magic to the mortal. It only takes a fraction of a second before color returns to her face and her eyes flutter open. And just as he’s about to bombard her with questions, he’s unceremoniously shoved aside as both, Michael and Alex, rush forward to hug her tightly.

“Okay boys, you have to let me breathe,” Sarah says weakly, her vision still blurry as she rises from the couch. “How long was I out, Tobes?” she asks, once she sees her brother—he stands by the window, a grim look on his face.

“You were barely conscious.”

Sarah whirls around when she hears _his_ voice—to say she’s enraged that he’s shown up at her apartment unannounced is an understatement. “We had an agreement—you can’t just show up here every time you feel like it.”

Jareth’s face is perfectly expressionless, as if he is made of stone. “I felt your weakened state, _precious thing_. I was concerned.” He smiles icily as her eyes blaze with anger. “Now that you are well, I shall take your leave.” Saying that, he forces himself to traverse back to his castle.

Toby sags visibly with relief once the Goblin King disappears—he’s glad the confrontation is over. “I’ve never seen you like that before, Sar. You looked like you were in a coma or something.”

“Don’t ever do that again!” Michael exclaims—his arms crossed.

Smiling at her son’s rather imperious sounding command, Sarah decides to lighten the mood a little. “So, anything else happen when I was out? What’d you decide to have for dinner?”

Alex grins at his brother. “Michael said he’d eat kale for a month. _For you_.”

Sarah laughs and says she’s going to sauté tofu and kale for dinner and Michael blanches—so does Toby.

They go to the filthy burger place four blocks down instead.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

He can barely keep his fury contained. The thought of her weakening herself to that state just so she can keep herself safe, from _him_ no less, threatens to drive him insane. The magic within her is a unique gift given to her by the Labyrinth—it has been infused with her very being. Tearing the magic out of her body would be a brutal experience.

…and yet she’d done _exactly_ that.

His thoughts drift over to his sons, that she’s _never_ drained them of their magic—it would have been a far less painful and dangerous process for them. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into an ironic smile as he thinks of his own mother, _she_ would _never_ have done the same.

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I can’t imagine 14 year olds liking kale very much. Lol.
> 
> So…Sarah had some kind of magic given to her by the Labyrinth when she won. J finds that out later in the 15 years prior setting.
> 
> Jareth is fucking with Sarah’s head in the first half—he’s coercing her by suggesting she’s too ‘innocent and young’ for his world, and that she should leave, every time she hesitates or questions him. She’s, obvi, infatuated enough at this point that she’ll do what he says if she thinks he’ll ‘dump’ her otherwise.
> 
> Hazelwood and Thorn is registered as an LLP—they consult on all things witchy, and their fees are exorbitant, but they get the job done. Sarah had to pay with her own magic as a kid (because she had no money)—she can pay $ them as an adult, but they’ve decided they want her magic more than money because it’s more valuable. They’re opportunistic capitalists that way.
> 
> More on Sarah’s family and what they went through in later chapters. I know age is relative and one person’s ‘young’ may be another person’s ‘old,’ but assume that there’s literally no one in Sarah’s extended family that has had kids at 18. They’re career-centric professionals who tend to get married after 30 and then have kids (if they choose to have kids, that is). It’s going to be a very tough experience for her—I’m not going to romanticize teen pregnancy.
> 
>  


	7. Duality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.
> 
> AN: wanted to clarify that Hazelwood and Thorn isn’t some evil, heartless place. They’re just not a goody-two-shoes ‘let’s hand over our services for free’ kind of company. And that’s why they’re a profitable business. Also, thank you guys so much for the kudos and reviews. I will do my best to respond by the end of the day.

 

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

She bites her lower lip as she sees him approach—her heartrate skyrockets, and her cheeks turn crimson. She’d left awkwardly after that _embarrassing_ night, and she hasn’t been able to go back since. He’d asked her for one _simple_ thing, the courtier’s eyes had been blindfolded, yet she hadn’t been able to do it. And he? He’d been so kind to her—he’d soothed her anxiety and made sure she slept. Her chest tightens a little when she thinks of him, almost painfully. She wonders what this feeling is… _could it be love?_

“Hello my beloved,” he croons, a gloved hand reaching out to caress her cheek. He smiles slowly as she closes her eyes at his touch. “You’ve broken my heart with your disappearing act.”

Her eyes fly open. That she caused him pain makes her feel awful. “I’m so sorry…I just thought…” she looks away. “I thought you wouldn’t want me back after…”

“Shh,” he silences her, tucking her head under his chin as he holds her in a tight embrace so that her face is pressed against his chest. She doesn’t see the feline smirk on his face. “You have nothing to be sorry for—I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Suddenly overjoyed that he understands, Sarah’s heart bursts with gratitude. _He understands, of course he understands! He loves her!_ She feels a sense of elation that she’s never felt before. “You’re perfect,” she says, blurting out the first thought that comes to her head.

Jareth rumbles a laugh—a laugh that’s not _entirely_ contemptuous. _Perfect indeed_. “Oh, precious. The things you say.” He pulls back, his hands on her shoulders. “I’m hosting my yearly Goblin Masquerade, love—it would mean the world to me if you could attend.”

And just like that, Sarah’s anxiety returns tenfold. “I don’t know if I can face…” her voice drifts off as a lump forms in her throat. She doesn’t want to face the dark haired courtier whose hands had been on her breasts.

Placing a gentle finger under her chin, he tilts her head so that he’s looking into her eyes. “You’d wear a mask, beloved—no one will recognize you.”

She brightens up at that. “Okay.”

\--

_(Yearly Goblin Masquerade)…_

Sarah smoothens her dress, frowning as she wobbles on her heels—damned things were more trouble than they were worth. But…they _did_ provide her with the extra height she so desired. Eyeing her reflection in the mirror, she smiles.

Her dress is a rich shade of emerald green—it has a lacey, strapless bodice and a tapered skirt with a small train. Her back is completely open, and the women who helped her dress have painted an intricately detailed labyrinth on her bare skin. They’ve put something on her eyelids, she doesn’t exactly know what—the makeup used here doesn’t resemble anything from her world—that makes her irises stand out, almost like they’re metallic green in color. Her lips are painted deep red, and a gold circlet adorns her head.

It’s her gilt mask that she likes the most—it’s fashioned after an owl. She’s almost giddy with excitement— _it has to mean something, doesn’t it?_ Why else would he give her an owl mask?

“There you are,” he rumbles, suddenly appearing behind her—his lips immediately descending to kiss the exposed skin of her neck. “You look… _exquisite_.” Strangely enough, he means his words—she looks so much older with a mask on, and those shoes that make her seem taller. A hint of desire starts flowing in his veins and he kisses her neck again—this time, an open mouthed kiss right on her frantic pulse.

“Jareth we have to go now,” she moans, her eyes closed as he continues kissing her neck with expert lips and tongue. She yelps when she feels his hands seek out her nipples through the silky fabric of her dress—she only has flimsy cotton cuplets for support, and to her embarrassment, her hardened nipples are easily visible.

He chuckles deeply—complete anonymity with the mask, and she’s _still_ uncomfortable. He knows it’s time to push just a little bit more. “Relax for tonight, _precious thing_ —no one shall recognize you. I want you to be _completely_ disinhibited.” His hands run down her body, caressing her through her dress, his teeth nip the nape of her neck.

Forcing her body to relax, she leans back into his touch, gasping as she feels him tease her nipples again. She arches into his touch as he reaches down and pulls up her dress, his fingers trailing a scorching blaze up her leg. Right before reaching the apex, he curls his fingers against her inner thigh. The slow anticipation of his touch is excruciating—she feels warm desire grow between her legs.

Smiling against the skin of her neck, he inches his fingers upwards, his movements torturously slow. He knows what he’s doing isn’t fair—that he’s going to tease her young, inexperienced body into arousal until she pleads with him to stop, or take her right then and there. _Still_ , at this point, he doesn’t care—and suddenly, it occurs to him that he _wants_ to touch this mortal.

His thoughts drift immediately to Raeyn and what she’d said. _Care for her…_

She screeches as he tugs a sensitive nipple, his touch hard enough to cause ample pain. There’s a sudden look of rage in his eyes, and she feels a shiver run up her spine—not one of lust or desire, but that of fear. Just as she’s about to say something, he whirls her around and devours her mouth in a devastating kiss.

He kisses her deeply, making sure that every part of his body is touching hers—his fingers inch up her legs and press against the soft material of her panties, lightly stroking her heated flesh. He doesn’t enter her with his fingers, nor does he pay any attention to the bundle of nerves at the top—he merely strokes her flesh.

She moans and gasps as his fingers continue their assault—his kiss turns even more sexual as he starts moving his tongue along hers. Her hands automatically fist into his hair before running down his chest.

His fingers press down harder against her and she starts bucking into his touch—she doesn’t know whether she should feel ashamed at her growing depravity, and at this point she doesn’t care. She can’t think, can’t breathe, hell she can barely stand up. Her body feels like it’s on fire.

Just as it looks as if her knees are going to buckle, he pushes her away—not gently, but not roughly either. He realizes, ironically, that his own breathing is hard and his body fully aroused. Try as he may to deny it, he _does_ feel something for her. “I’m so sorry, _precious thing_ ,” he whispers. “I should have controlled myself—I don’t want to frighten you.”

“N-no,” she stammers, desire still running in her veins, her voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop.” Her face is flushed, pupils dilated—the throbbing between her legs makes every pulse in her body come alive.

He gives her a halfhearted smile. “Not like this, _precious thing_ ,” he mock-pleads. “I _must_ attend the Goblin Masquerade as the King.”

“Oh,” she whispers, her chest aching with disappointment. Her body all but pleads with her to throw herself at him—or, at least, press herself between her legs to relieve some of the aching tension. “Do I look presentable?” she asks him, suddenly nervous. It’s taken her a long time to get ready, she doesn’t want to have to go through it again.

Appraising her with a heated gaze, he smiles, showing a full set of wolfish teeth. “You’ve never looked _more_ presentable, my beloved.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Sarah smiles brightly for the photograph…well, _are selfies even photographs_?...”Alright, smile… _now_!”

It’s Alex’s recital tonight and both of her sons look ridiculously adorable in their tuxes and formal shoes. It’s only the three of them—Toby has an exam the next day and Robert and Karen are visiting her grandmother upstate.

“You ready, kid?” she asks, smiling as Alex nods, his eyes a little anxious. “I’m sure you’ll play amazingly,” she reassures. He’s going to play Burgmuller’s The Storm—complicated for a 14-year-old, but his teacher is adamant that Alex can do it.

Alex gives her a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not worried about playing well—I _know_ I’m good.”

Sarah can’t help but snort at that. “Modesty, Alex,” she reprimands. “Then why do you look so worried?”

Alex doesn’t say anything, but Michael speaks up, “We don’t want you to go…wherever you’re going with _him_.” His hair has always hung just a bit longer than Alex’s, and has always been a bit more unruly—it makes him stand out all the more in a tux.

She puts on a bright smile as she looks at both of them. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? _Ever_.” She straightens Michael’s bowtie and ruffles his hair. “I can kick ass if necessary.”

“Why do _you_ get to say ass, as we don’t?” he questions defiantly.

“Because I’m an adult,” Sarah replies with a laugh—trust Michael fight for the right to swear. “Now stop messing with that bowtie and let’s head out.”

Michael, however, isn’t subdued. “What does _legitimized_ even mean? Are people going to call us the Goblin King’s bastards like we’re in Game of Thrones or something, if we _don’t_ get legitimized? Who cares about this stuff anymore?”

Sarah groans as she curses HBO and kids these days and flimsy parental controls—all of which seem to be the bane of her existence. “If Jareth says it’s important, then we have to believe him.”

“He said we can’t live here permanently.” It’s Alex who speaks this time, he studies his mother’s reactions with acute precision. “Do we have to go live with him?”

Sighing deeply, Sarah considers just how much information she should tell them at the moment. She doesn’t want to be secretive, nor does she want to overwhelm them. “Let’s start with legitimization, and then we’ll take it from there.”

Unfortunately, Alex doesn’t fall for her tactic. He’s smart enough to understand that an evasion like that generally means yes. “Will you come with us?”

“Oh, Alex,” she moves to ruffle his hair, but he moves back—the kid’s obsessed about looking perfectly neat for his recital. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. Now, let’s go down before the Uber guy leaves.”

\--

_(High Council Forum)…_

Sarah stares back at the formidable Council members, her gaze steady. She’d met a different Council the last time—well, Council _and_ Court—and she’d been _so_ nervous. Not this time around. Her voice is steady when she addresses them, saying the words Jareth has instructed her to speak, “I don’t understand why my presence was required.”

A man with light hair stands up, his eyes look like lipid pools of cerulean. “We require your testimony, _mortal_. The Goblin King has come to the High Council proclaiming that he’s fathered twice bonded twins who are immune to iron.” His voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Jareth may be the most… _fortunate_ …monarch in our realm or he may be wasting our time with trivialities. Why don’t you tell us what is it he’s doing?”

She raises a brow. “He’s not lying.”

“Oh? Why would you seek to hide your sons? And why make yourself known only now?”

Sighing as if she’s infinitely bored, Sarah’s gaze flits over to the Goblin King and back to the Council members. “I required their unwavering loyalty—which I have. I shall have sufficient power in the Goblin Court, power which the Goblin King wasn’t willing to give me earlier.”

The light haired man turns to Jareth. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order—you _are_ the most fortunate monarch in our realm,” this time there is no sarcasm in his voice, there’s only anger. “So you’re going to bring this mortal back and give her a place in the Goblin Court. How many more offspring are you going to produce?”

Sarah has to control herself not to look shocked. _What a question to ask_! She feels Jareth’s fingers clasp her wrist and squeeze, as if warning her not to react.

Jareth, for his part, smiles lazily. “Not that it’s any of the High Council’s concern, but the mortal, or, Lady Sarah now, I suppose, has a mortal lover with whom she is…what is the word mortals use…ah, monogamous.”

“Would Lady Sarah be open to courting any of the High Council or High Court?”

Jareth gives her wrist a more forceful squeeze—he can sense her surprise and anger, but it’s best if she doesn’t react. “Possibly, if she finds you… _adequate_ …enough. Far be it from _me_ to stop her.”

The Council member seems satisfied with the answer. “Very well. Consider your sons legitimized.” A heavy, leather bound binder appears before disappearing into thin air. He turns to Sarah. “They need not appear in front of the High Council, but they will have to sign the legal ordinance and charter at the earliest. When do you plan on returning, Lady Sarah?”

Sarah raises her brows—the man’s tone has become a lot nicer after the whole ‘open to courting’ speech. _What a fucking creep!_

“Sarah?”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah turns to face Jareth, who looks back icily. “I haven’t yet decided,” she says with a shrug. “After I close certain matters.”

The man nods at her before turning back to Jareth. “They will need to be formally announced.” There is a touch of hostility in his voice that makes the tiny hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck stand up. It’s evident that this man holds no love for Jareth, but in this world, the hatred seems to be automatically transferred to her sons.

“Of course,” Jareth replies, a derisive smile on his lips—as if the man is stating the obvious. He takes Sarah’s hand, indicating that she stand up from her seated position. “I shall hold a formal ceremony and send each and every member of the Court and Council an invitation.” Saying that, he transports Sarah and himself out of the Forum before the Council can respond.

\--

_(Sarah’s apartment, later on in the night)…_

“Calm yourself, _precious thing_ ,” Jareth drawls, sitting down on the couch with easy grace, one long leg thrown over an armrest.

Sarah doesn’t react to his condescending tone—she eyes him sharply before letting out a hiss. “What was _that_ about Council and Court members _courting_ me? I don’t think they even understand what monogamous means!”

Shrugging his slim shoulders, Jareth can’t help but smile at her rage. “They probably don’t,” he agrees curtly. “As for _you_ \--if the Council were to believe you were, as you say, _in love_ with your mortal man, they might take serious measures to harm him.”

Her blood runs cold at the thought. “Why?”

He rumbles out a slow, lazy laugh. “ _You_ , precious thing, are exactly that— _precious_. You’ve given birth to twice bonded twins, the Council and Court would like to be afforded the same opportunity.”

“You’re telling me that they want me because of my amazing eggs and uterus?” she asks, her mouth wide open in shock. “That sounds so incredibly stupid and backwards.”

“Regardless, it’s the truth. I believe I divulged this information before, that only _I_ could keep you safe. There’s also the fact that you made a fool of me for almost a decade and a half—that will appeal to certain High Court and Council members.”

She closes her mouth—she’d thought he was making the whole thing up. Apparently not. “They’ll kill Robert if they think he’ll cause a problem…” she states rather than asks, fear beginning to churn deep in her gut.

He flashes her a Cheshire cat like grin. “Not if they believe he’s only a distraction.”

His words do nothing to soothe her growing anxiety. “What will I do with High Court and Council members running around, trying to court me?”

“Precious thing, you make it out to be so _torturous_ when it could be enjoyable,” he says with a dark chuckle. “I suggest you play your share of games—use them for your own amusement.” The second he says those words, he knows he’s crossed a line—but like his actions from the past, he cannot take them back.

Sarah’s face turns white as blood drains from her face. “Like you did with me,” she says, rising from the sofa. She stands next to him with her arms crossed and her back straight. “I’d like you to leave now.” Her words are soft, but the command is unmistakable.

Deciding not to test her, he stands—a small mercy. “Very well,” he says quietly. “When would you like me to organize the formal announcement?”

“You’re asking me?”

He nods.

Taking out her phone, she looks at her calendar—“They can’t afford to miss school these next few weeks.”

Jareth laughs softly at that. “I could always bend time. It would be a short affair that need only last one night. I shall make arrangements for all ceremonial outfits.” He can afford to be generous…in the beginning.

 _Of course he could_. She studies her calendar again—“In that case, make it next Saturday. You won’t have to bend time.” She thinks about the event for a few moments. “Jareth?”

Raising a brow, he looks at her questioningly.

“I don’t think the boys will be open to wearing pants that… _tight_. So please don’t order _that_ style for them.”

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I can’t imagine 14 year old boys finding tight leotards nice, lol. They’re in for some interesting wardrobe choices. But kids in formal clothes are just so cute. They look like miniature adults!
> 
> First half Jareth: He’s put her in a situation she doesn’t want to be in – and then he’s rescued her from said situation. It makes him look like a very understanding savior and not a manipulative ass.
> 
> Back to teen pregnancy: I don’t get MTV and TLC shows that glorify them – I’m always amazed when 16, 17 year olds are excited about being pregnant. Most of them are throwing themselves headfirst into poverty (the cyclical, generational kind) and they seem happy about it. I am so damned curious about why people fuck themselves over like this.
> 
> I’ll be visiting my parents in that side of the world for three weeks – which means shopping and steak and cheese. Anyways, I used to get PMs saying ‘you say other people have daddy issues, you probably have daddy issues’ which used to make me LOL.
> 
> I have a whole different set of daddy and mommy issues—case in point, I had a major fight with them when I was 10 when they wouldn’t let me watch Disney’s Pocahontas (it was ‘a mockery of history and genocide’). And then they told me the real story of Pocahontas about a 14 year old child bride who dies brutally of tuberculosis (and then they explained what tuberculosis was and how one died from it). Haha, I was 10!
> 
> As an adult, I give them grief that they worship old Woody Allen movies while having denied me one measly historically inaccurate cartoon!


	8. Façade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.
> 
> AN: Thank you all for the reviews—I absolutely love the quality of reviews I get for this fic. They’re the best out of all my other fics.

 

\--

_(15 years prior)…_

Watching her growing sense of discomfort, he hands her a glass of blueberry wine, hoping it’ll soothe some of her anxiety. When pushed, the mortal seems to freeze, and _that_ doesn’t serve his purpose at all.

She looks up, the owl mask hides any sign of worry on her face. “I’ve already had one,” she says, feeling the slight buzz of alcohol as it flows in her bloodstream.

“Then have another,” he says, an edge to his voice. “ _Quickly_.”

Slightly taken aback at the sharpness of his tone, she does as he asks—gulping the bittersweet drink as fast as she can. She can feel her head grow heavier within an instant of finishing the last drop—she sways on her feet. “Jareth?”

The Goblin King seems to have disappeared—there’s no one standing beside her.

Suddenly, Sarah’s reminded of another masquerade ball, one in which she hadn’t been wearing a mask. Just like the last time, she crosses the dance floor, looking for him… _where is he_? When she doesn’t see him in the sea of beautiful costumes and masks, she walks over to a table situated in the corner of the ballroom, and sits down. She feels so hot that sweat gathers on her forehead, her mask sits heavy on her face. _Where could he have gone—he’d been standing right next to her, hadn’t he_?

“Lady Sarah, is it?”

She snaps out of her thoughts and peers into…well, she can’t quite describe the woman’s eyes. It’s almost as if they change colors every second. She’s taller than Sarah, and her mask is fashioned after the sun, as is her dress. “Yes…?” Sarah replies with a clear up-speak in her tone.

The woman smiles, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth—taking two glasses of mead from a passing serving attendant, she hands one over to the mortal as she sits down. “I hope the Goblin Masquerade is to your liking.”

Sarah doesn’t know quite what to do with the glass of mead— _would it be rude to refuse_? She’s already beginning to feel slightly dizzy, so she knows she should be careful with consuming one too many drinks. On the other hand, she doesn’t want to offend this woman…throwing caution to the wind she takes a tentative sip, wrinkling her nose. This is much stronger than blueberry wine. “Um, yea,” she says, her voice slightly nervous. “It’s very pretty. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before…?”

“Raeyn,” the woman replies with a reassuring smile. “I’m relieved to hear it—I thought you looked extremely bored, sitting here all by yourself.”

“Oh no,” Sarah says quickly, horrified that _he’d_ think the same thing. “I was just…resting.”

Raeyn only laughs. “I tend to find these events utterly boring as well—most people only talk of politics. It gets tedious fairly quickly.”

Sarah can’t help but smile at that. This woman’s the one person apart from Jareth who’s bothered talking to her, and she’s grateful. “Are you a member of the…uh…King’s Court, Lady Raeyn?”

“Please don’t address me as such Lady Sarah, I am a priestess, not a lady,” Raeyn says with a wink. “I’m not one for titles. In any case, I am not part of the Goblin King’s personal court nor am I a member of the Goblin Council.”

“Oh…” Sarah says with wide eyes, “Then what are you doing here?” The second she says those words, her face turns a deep shade of red. “I’m so sorry-“” she begins, but is cut off when Raeyn shakes her head.

“Don’t apologize—I’m sure the King invited me as an afterthought, something to appease the higher offices at the temple. I’m happy to have had the chance to meet you.” There isn’t a hint of mockery in Raeyn’s tone and her eyes sparkle warmly.

Sarah’s face breaks out in a big smile—the alcohol having loosened her inhibitions. She’s ecstatic to have a… _friend_ …in this strange world. “How long does the Goblin Masquerade last?” she asks, curiosity getting the best of her. Her eyelids are droopy, and there’s a slow buzzing in her ears—she wouldn’t mind heading back home and crashing into bed. Unfortunately, she can’t do that without Jareth’s presence.

“Come,” Raeyn cajoles, standing up and taking one of Sarah’s hands into her own. “I’ve always wanted to look at the castle gardens of stone and marble, we may as well leave this boring affair.” Her eyes shining as she sees another attendant walk by with a tray full of goblets containing a silvery drink—she takes only one goblet.

Standing nervously, Sarah scans the ballroom for Jareth, biting her lip when she doesn’t see him. “I don’t know if the King would want me to…” her words die in her throat. She feels young and unsophisticated in front of this woman—she knows she’ll sound ridiculous if she says she can’t move without the King’s permission. It’s not as if she’s some deranged child that requires constant care!

“Oh, the King is most likely meeting various droning dignitaries at the moment, Lady Sarah. We can return within the hour—I’ve heard the gardens of stone and marble are quite a sight.” Raeyn pauses for a few seconds, eyeing the girl’s hesitation with amusement. “…or if you’d rather not, then I must take my leave as I cannot keep my eyes open a second longer in this miserable place.” Now all she has to do is wait…

_…and it takes less than a few seconds for the mortal to respond._

“It’s alright, I can come to the gardens with you,” Sarah says quickly—she doesn’t want to be left alone.

\--

_(The gardens of stone and marble)…_

Raeyn was correct—the garden is quite a sight indeed. There are life size statues of… _people_ …everywhere. Some are children, some are men, but most are women—some are made of slate and others of the purest of marbles. Some have no detailing, and some are so finely carved, they look like they can come alive any moment.

One particular statue catches her eye—it’s a woman who sits at the very edge of a massive fountain, her gaze facing the water. One hand sits on her lap while the other touches the surface of the water. She’s dressed in a robe that’s drapes exquisitely over her form. The thin marble is carved so fine that it can pass for actual cloth when viewed from a distance. Sarah can’t help but walk towards the woman, mesmerized.

“She is quite beautiful, isn’t she?” Raeyn asks.

Sarah nods, leaning forward to look at the woman’s face—she gasps when she sees it. There’s a look of pure anguish etched in the lines of her delicate face. She reaches forward to touch the woman’s hand, one that touches the water.

_“I’m ruined…” she hears soft sobs, “…my father will have me closed in the wall…” the sobs are louder now, “…I thought he loved me.”_

Startled, Sarah lets go of the marble hand, her eyes wide. Just as she’s about to ask Raeyn whether she’d heard the soft whispers as well, she sees the Goblin King walk up to the fountain—the eerily calm expression on his face is enough to make her blood run cold.

Raeyn eyes her lover with mild diversion. “Your Grace,” she purrs, her body bowed low in deference. “We were admiring your marvelously sculpted statues. They’re very… _realistic_.”

For the first time since he’s known Raeyn, Jareth eyes her with suspicion—this game of hers isn’t mere entertainment, there’s something _more_ at play. “Raeyn, I didn’t know priestesses were allowed out of the temples this… _late_.”

Smiling slowly, Raeyn bows her head. “Of course, Your Grace.” She turns to Sarah, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Sarah—what a breath of fresh air.” She hands over the goblet in her grasp to the mortal, “I’d obtained a glass of, what we call, _essence of ivory_ for you—it’s known to be delicious.”

Sarah takes the glass and smiles. “Thank you Raeyn. It was a pleasure meeting you as well. But I don’t know if I can have another drink tonight.”

“Essence of ivory isn’t alcohol, Lady Sarah, it’s merely a… _refreshment_.” Raeyn’s eyes find Jareth’s. Her lips twist upwards a fraction of an inch at the look on his face.

“Thanks!” Sarah exclaims warmly. “Hope I’ll see you again.”

Giving her a light nod, Raeyn disappears from the gardens of stone and marble.

“Jareth…?” Sarah asks as he stares at the space Raeyn had previously occupied.

The Goblin King snaps out of his thoughts and extends a gloved hand. “Come, precious thing.”

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

He watches the mortal take the goblet to her lips—his mind rages within itself on whether he should interfere. One of Raeyn’s preferred methods of assassination is poison—the kind that’s colorless, tasteless, and cannot be detected without extremely complicated procedures. _What could possibly be the point in killing off the mortal_ , he wonders…however, his concern for the mortal wins over his indifference.

“Stop,” Jareth commands, his hands clenched into fists. “Give me the goblet.” Raeyn’s game is driving him insane and he wants to be done with it, once and for all.

Sarah does as he asks, her eyebrows raised high in surprise. _Is he angry with her? Has she done something wrong?_

Jareth can’t help but feel a stab of anger, as soon as she hands over her goblet. He feels more than just anger—it’s an amalgamation of emotions towards himself, Raeyn, and even the mortal. Raeyn had taunted him about caring for Sarah, and now, he wonders if she’d been correct. If she _has_ indeed poisoned Sarah’s drink, then her suspicions will be confirmed quite easily. And if she hasn’t…well…she’s wrought havoc on his mind. With a flick of his hand, he conjures up another glass of essence of ivory and presses it to the mortal’s lips.

“Come here, _precious thing_ ,” Jareth croons, a twisted grin on his face once he sees her clear jade eyes turn cloudy. Raeyn hadn’t been lying, essence of ivory _isn’t_ alcohol—but it isn’t harmless either. With his kind, it eases them into relaxation and heightens certain sensations and emotions. With humans… _well_ …the effects vary. He’d awakened ravenous desire within her minutes before the Goblin Masquerade, he figures that the essence of ivory in her system will probably latch onto that.

She walks over to him, suddenly nervous about whether he’s angry that she left the party with Raeyn. “I’m sorry I went to the gardens,” she begins, but is silenced by Jareth’s fingers on her lips.

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling her onto his lap. He’d been correct—the drink has already worked to increase her hunger, and he can feel her heat through the delicate fabric of her dress. Placing his lips close to her ear, he whispers, “Tonight, _precious thing_ , there is no going back.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“Why’d I have to leave practice early?” Michael asks, his tone bordering on anxious. “Did something happen? Where’s Alex?”

Sarah gives him a reassuring look. “Everything’s fine—Alex should be here soon. We just have to go over some things for tomorrow’s event.”

Right on cue, Alex enters the apartment, an uncharacteristically silly grin on his face, which he quickly shakes off. “I’m sorry—did I keep you waiting?”

Smiling at his politeness, Sarah shakes her head. “Come, sit down,” she says, suppressing a grin when his goofy grin returns. He’d been on his second ‘date’ with a girl from school, and Sarah can make out it went well. Her heart twinges a little—her boys are growing up.

“So what’s this so called event?” Michael asks, curiosity replacing the anxiety he previously harbored.

“It’s a ball-”

“Aren’t balls meant for old people on cruises?” Michael interrupts and Alex laughs quietly in the background. “How _old_ is the Goblin King exactly?”

Sarah sighs, Michael’s probably inherited his propensity for sarcasm from her mother—it’s a trait she find both endearing and annoying. “This is serious, Michael,” she chastises. “You can call him Jareth, or…actually…you should speak to him about what you can call him. He’s very old, older than you can imagine. The ball is meant to be an event where he can formally announce you as his heirs.”

Michael isn’t impressed. “Is the ball going to be like in that really boring movie with Mr. Darcy that you love so much?”

At this, Sarah throws her head back and laughs—her sons certainly _weren’t_ fans of Pride and Prejudice, they thought it was the most boring movie in the world. “No—it’s going to be something...something that you’ve never seen.”

Alex stops Michael from blurting out anything else, and eyes his mother with concern. “Do you even want to go there?” A small frown furrows his brows as he realizes he doesn’t even know _where_ is it they’re going.

“Well, I’m definitely _not_ sending the two of you there alone,” Sarah replies, before taking out the heavy, leather bound folder that sits in her tote. “Which reminds me…the two of you need to sign this on the last page.”

Michael takes the folder from his mother and opens it up—his eyes growing more confused as he scans the pages. “Why do you want us to sign something we can’t even read? I thought you said it’s a stupid thing to do.”

Sarah gives out a frustrated sigh that doubles as a halfhearted laugh. He isn’t wrong. As a lawyer who specializes in contract law, possibly the most boring kind of law that’s practiced, she’s always made it a point to tell her children never to sign a document without having a thorough understanding of what’s written in it. “This document legitimizes your status—if it was unsafe, Jareth wouldn’t have given it to me.”

“How do you know it doesn’t, like, hand over custody to him or something?” It’s Alex who asks this question, the look of concern growing in his pale eyes.

“Good question,” Sarah says, impressed. “This document was given to me by the High Council, and let’s say the Goblin King isn’t a personal favorite of theirs. From what I know of the Underground, custody as we know it isn’t relevant—children are tied to both parents. If you’re so concerned, I’m sure Jareth can have this translated into English later on. Right now, you have to trust me and sign the document—alright?” Her tone leaves no room for arguments and gaze is stern.

The twins look at each other for a few moments before Alex gives her a cool nod. Michael stares back with his arms crossed.

“Okay, out with it—what do you want to say?” Sarah asks her more defiant son, a conciliatory smile on her face.

Michael rolls his eyes, he isn’t one to hold back his opinions. “You know mom, all you’ve told us about _Jareth_ is that he’s dangerous, _very_ dangerous. And now that he’s back, you’re all – do as you’re told and sign a document you can’t even read. Isn’t that just…like…beyond stupid?” Still, both boys sign the ordinance without further arguments.  

“Those are some fair points, Michael,” Sarah concedes, using her ‘work voice.’ Having never believed in infantilizing her children, she allows them to question her judgment as long as it’s done in a rational manner—“but our options are limited. Jareth…” she looks away, not sure of how much information she should reveal, “…he has more than a few enemies, who would waste no time in harming you to get to him. Legitimization allows him to place you under his personal protection.”

Michael looks a little lost while Alex raises his brows, beginning to understand the complications of their situation. “You mean we’re either stuck being exposed to people who want to kill us or the Goblin King?” the quieter of the two asks, placing a hand on his brother’s arm to silence him. “What _kind_ of a king is he, anyway?”

“Excellent question Alexander—but perhaps that’s a question you should be asking me.”

All three pairs of eyes turn towards the Goblin King, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere—he stands with the slightest of smiles curling his bow shaped lips, as if he’s amused by the topic of conversation.

Fighting off the beginnings of a frown, Sarah gives him a cool stare—she needs to remain calm. “When I asked you to come and explain the situation to them, I didn’t mean for you to show up abruptly, unannounced.”

“My apologies, _Sa-rah_ ,” Jareth says, his smile deepening as her eyes flicker with barely concealed fury. Taking his usual seat on the armchair, he leans back, his eyes never leaving hers. “ _How_ shall I answer the question, precious thing?”

Sarah looks at her sons, her heart hammering in her chest. “Truthfully.”

Jareth raises a brow, surprised by her response. “Very well,” he drawls slowly before turning towards the boys, who are seated on the sofa. “The word I’d use, first and foremost, is effective. I am an _effective_ king—I make sure the kingdom runs smoothly, that the nobles don’t slaughter each other over land and power, that my neighbors steer clear of my borders, and that trade alliances are to my advantage.”

 For once Michael is at a loss for words, and so is Alex. Sarah, however, isn’t. “The _entire_ truth, Jareth,” she says with as much authority as she can muster.

A razor sharp smile graces the Goblin King’s face. “Of course, My Lady,” he says with a mock bow of his head. He turns towards his sons once more. “If you were to ask my enemies the same question, they would use the word _ruthless_ —I have been known to handle dissension with extreme brutality.”

An awkward silence fills the tiny apartment…it’s broken a few moments later when Alex speaks up. “So you run an actual country with…actual people?” His tone does little to hide his surprise—he’d believed that the man only had goblins as subjects.

Jareth laughs slowly. “Comes with the territory of being King, Alexander. My subjects are not what you could call _people_.”

Michael sits up, something suddenly occurring to him—“If you’re King, does that mean you can do whatever the hell you want?”

Jareth notices the panicked expression on Sarah’s face. Cocking his head to the side, he eyes his son—a slow smile twisting his lips as he notices the boy’s curiosity. “Not exactly.”

Sarah decides to intervene before Michael asks any more questions, “Jareth’s here to explain what’s expected of you at the announcement ceremony, so let’s not waste any more of his time…”

Jareth raises an amused brow at her words. “I appreciate your concern, _Sa-rah_. As for my expectations…” he appraises both the boys, a pleased expression crossing his face. He can’t wait to see the look on the Goblin Council members’ faces when they see that he has not only one, but _two_ heirs. “You will not speak unless spoken to—and you will only do so if Sarah or I are present. Do not consume any food or drinks unless my personal attendants deem it safe. And do _not_ react to anyone or anything you find unusual.”

Michael interrupts with a roll of his eyes—these rules sound ridiculous to him. “If someone asks us a question, we’re not allowed to reply without you or mom around? That sounds so dumb, people are going to think we’re mentally challenged.”

His face freezing into its familiar expressionless mask, Jareth replies, an icy calmness lacing his voice, “That is _precisely_ what you will do, Michael. As my legitimized heirs, you represent my house, and as such, you represent _me_. These instructions are for your safety and you _will_ adhere to them.”

Exchanging a look among themselves, the twins don’t reply—their bravado slipping a little. The lethal calmness of Jareth’s voice is unnerving.

“Would someone try poisoning them in your own castle?” Sarah asks, her mind rife with worry. So far, she’d been worried about Jareth’s influence on the twins’ lives, now she has a whole different set of worries to add to the list.

“Yes,” Jareth replies without missing a beat. “I’m afraid answering any more queries would be futile—to understand my world, they will have to first experience it.” He produces a large parcel out of thin air. “Your clothes have been tailored, I hope they are to your liking.” He stands, his eyes set on Sarah—“My attendants will arrive to collect you tomorrow evening.” Saying that the Goblin King disappears as quickly as he had appeared.

Breaking the silence with his raucous laugh, Michael asks—“If he can appear and disappear at will, why does he even have to stand up first?”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background on the political structures—each kingdom has a court (that’s specific to the ruling monarch) and a council (that’s sort of voted by the ruling nobles and warlords). Same with the High Court (most powerful monarchs) and High Council (powerful nobles, warlords, merchants from kingdoms across the Underground). The High Council is more powerful than the High Court. The former doesn’t view the Goblin King in a very good light—J is the type to kill off opposition in the Goblin Council, but he isn’t necessarily a bad king. Just not one to share power.
> 
> Sarah—is very strong, yes. Keep in mind she’s from a very privileged background and has been afforded the opportunities to become the person she is today. More on the realities of teen pregnancy and privilege in later chapters, including why S didn’t choose to terminate the pregnancy (as that would have been the most prudent option for an 18 year old).
> 
> PMs starting with ‘can I ask’ – yes you can. Ask anything you want in the reviews. I’m not a boo-hooing sensitive little flower, so go ahead with your questions.
> 
> Anyways – did you guys know there are fanfics based on the Bible? I had no clue until today and I’m still lolling about it. Someone should write an Adam and Steve version of the Garden of Eden and forward it to the anti-gay crowd. See, you homophobic douche bags, it could be Adam and Steve!


	9. Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.
> 
> AN: Some background on the story—it’s more of a take on twisted relationships than a mystery or anything like that.
> 
> Edited to add: I'm not on the Labyrinth FB group page so if you see a KBates there, please note that it isn't me. And I don't leave reviews without logging in - so if you get a guest review saying KBates, delete.

 

_(15 years prior)…_

She’s back in her room, on her own tiny little single bed—she curls up into a fetal position as her eyes swim with tears.

_He’d been so tender, he’d taken every step imaginable to make sure the pain she experienced was minimal. Afterwards, he’d healed her almost right away and shown her pleasure like she’d never experienced before. But then, he’d woken her up rather roughly and insisted she return back home. It was as if he was an entirely different person._

She wonders if she’s displeased him…she wonders if he’ll ever come back. Everything he’d said seemed so… _final_. Frowning, she wonders if there’s something _wrong_ with her. Should she feel different now that she’s not a virgin? That’s what one of her friends had said—that she felt like a ‘true woman.’

Sarah’s frown deepens—she doesn’t feel like a true woman at all. She feels like a complete, utter loser. 

\--

_(The Throne Room—Jareth’s Castle)…_

“You called for me, Your Grace?” Her voice is smooth yet a little high pitched, and her ever changing eyes glint with satisfaction. The throne room’s empty save for the two of them—she stands so she has to look up at him, a clear indication of who holds the power… _supposedly_.

He sits with his feet resting on the ground, his knees apart—one elbow sits on an armrest, and his head rests on his fist. He looks weary, his dual eyes troubled, as if he’s gone through a major emotional upheaval. “It’s done. I made her bleed and sent her off.”

She doesn’t laugh aloud, but her eyes sparkle with hidden mirth. “I believe part of the contract was for you to _break_ her and watch her fall…yet you haven’t, _my love_.”

Jareth waves off her statement, his thin lips forming a sneer. “She was a sniveling mess when I suggested she return to her own realm—I’ve broken her enough.”

Raeyn says nothing. She simply stands there with a knowing half-smile on her face, and lets the deafening silence take over until the Goblin King can’t bear it any longer.

“What is it?” Jareth asks, his voice curt. “Tell me.”

Still choosing to keep silent for a few more seconds, Raeyn studies the King’s agitation with a serene expression on her face. “Come now, _my love_ ,” she stresses the endearment, “…we both know that isn’t how you _break_ your _toys_. You make sure to shatter them so that no one can ever piece them back together again.”

“This girl is mortal and she’s so _young_ …” Jareth can’t quite complete his thought. He doesn’t know what to say— _that he doesn’t wish to take it further?_ He decides to change his tactic. “Why is she so important to you, Raeyn?”

Raeyn merely shrugs her slim shoulders. “Why _wouldn’t_ she be important? She’s caught your interest for a long time, hasn’t she? Before this game began.”

Almost growling in frustration, Jareth forces himself to remain calm. He recognizes that she’s toying with him—he doesn’t know _why_. “Regardless. Why _her_?”

This time, she does laugh aloud, her tinkling laughter echoing against the walls of the empty throne room. “Oh, my love, I believe it’s time you were honest with yourself.”

“Explain.” That’s all he says in response, his voice now deathly calm, his gaze as cold as ice.

“I believe…” she begins in a singsong voice, “…that you care for her, like I said before, _my love_.” A wide smile breaks out on her face when she sees him falter. “I believe you care for her _much more_ than you let on…perhaps you’re in love with her.”

The Goblin King goes completely still, a tremendous blaze of fury comes alive in his chest. “You’re wrong, Raeyn,” he says, unable to keep anger from coloring his voice. “However…I am a tad curious as to why you’re so insistent on the matter.”

She bows low. “Very well, _my love_ , since I believe my contract is done. I was given a very specific task by a warlord from an eastern province. He had a daughter once…and you have her now, as a part of your little collection.”

He understand exactly whom she’s speaking of _—the woman by the water…_ “Why?” He asks through gritted teeth.

She smiles at the unconcealed fury that shakes his very frame. _Why, indeed_. “He told me a story—that rumor had it, the Goblin King had been looking at a mortal recently. That he’d allowed her to win his game, and that he’d allowed her to leave— _completely unscathed_. The warlord wanted to know if there was any truth to these words…and if there _was_ …well, he wanted the Goblin King to suffer as he had suffered.”

_…as he had suffered…_

Jareth thins his lips. “And how exactly have I suffered his fate?”

She flashes him a mischievous smile. “You would have, _my love_ , had you allowed the mortal to drink from the goblet I’d given her.”

Hot blood roars in his ears as his anger reaches new heights—he’d suspected as much. _Still_ , hearing her say those words is infuriating—and it doesn’t explain her motivations. He’s known Raeyn for centuries—she wouldn’t deceive him for wealth. “This is ridiculous, Raeyn. I never expected such…betrayal from you.”

“Is it ridiculous?” she asks mildly. “Yet you stopped her from drinking my poison, you never actually made her do _anything_ for you, and you didn’t even try breaking her. Why’s that, _my love_?” She stresses the endearment again—this time, there’s a taunting quality to her voice.

Jareth looks away, unable to counter anything she’s said.

She laughs and laughs, until there are tears in her eyes. “The warlord only believed you were captivated by the mortal—he didn’t much care for his daughter, you see, he saw her as a possession. Just as he believed the mortal to be _your_ possession that he wanted to take away. I suppose he’ll be pleased to know that his assignment has rendered the Goblin King powerless in an entirely _different_ manner.” Her voice isn’t taunting anymore—only matter-of-fact.

“You’re wrong.” Jareth responds, managing to regain his composure—his face is expressionless as is his voice. “I don’t care for the mortal, and I’m certainly _not_ in love with her.” In his confusion and anger, he forgets to ask _why_ she took on such an assignment in the first place.

“Perhaps you should first convince yourself of these beliefs, my love.”

He curls his fingers into a tight fist. “I’ll prove it to you.”

A silvery laugh. “Don’t do anything rash on my account, Your Grace—mortals are quite _delicate_ , after all.”

\--

_(A few nights later, Sarah’s room)…_

“Hush, my beloved,” he says, holding a gloved hand to her mouth.

_He’d entered her room through the mirror—unfortunately, she’d been asleep. Seeing him suddenly appear in the middle of the night had given her a fright._

She stares at him as she sits up on her bed, wide eyed. “You’re back,” she says, incredulous. Somewhere in her mind, however, it occurs to her that this is the second time he’s let her assume that he’d dumped her. The thought makes her frown.

“Of course I’m back—I apologize for the delay, I’ve had some…important meetings.”

Her frown deepens when she realizes that he never gives her any details of these ‘important meetings.’ Regardless, she’s thrilled to have him near again—her chest tightens as a smile breaks out on her face. “I thought…never mind,” she says, reaching forward to give him a shy kiss on the lips.

He grins at her display of enthusiasm—it’s only half mocking. “I have a proposition for you, _precious thing_.”

“What’s that?” she asks, her voice brimming with curiosity.

His grin widens into a full-fledged smile—he makes sure to keep the sharp edges of his teeth hidden, it’s a smile one could _almost_ call charming. “First, I want to make sure that your various activities have ended.”

She nods. “You mean my internship and job? Yup. I’m free for the next two weeks, before I head to college.” She’d even finished all her college shopping.

“Then how would you like to join me for an entire week, _Sa-rah_?”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

He watches her from the corners of his eyes—a small smile twisting his bow shaped lips. She’s wearing a dress of mortal design instead of the silver ensemble he’d sent her—but he’s not surprised. The dress is made of material that clings to her curves and it’s colored the purest of white, a stark contrast to most of his other guests who wear rich, jewel tones. The square neckline is quite conservative, but the dress is open at the back—baring a vast expanse of skin all the way to the curve on the small of her back. She dances with Michael, ignoring a High Council member who seems desperate for her attention.

“Why do you keep staring at her?”

The Goblin King snaps out of his thoughts as he turns towards his quieter, but clearly more observant son. “Alexander,” he says, eyeing his outfit with a pleased look. “I see that both of you have worn what I sent.”

Alex gives him a cool shrug. “Michael raised some hell, but I convinced him _this_ particular battle wasn’t worth it.”

Jareth smiles at that. “Your mother thought differently.”

“She gave the dress that you sent to the Salvation Army,” Alex’s pale brows furrow when he notices how Jareth’s gaze reverts back to his mother. “We’ve read her diary, you know.”

This catches Jareth’s attention. “Have you?”

“We found it in Granddad’s attic with all of her other things.” Alex eyes his father with a cold stare. “You made her very sad.”

Jareth’s face regresses back to an implacable mask. “I wasn’t aware that Sarah kept a diary…at least, not when I knew her last.”

“She didn’t—she started keeping one when she found out about us. When she decided to _have_ us. She was terrified we’d turn out like you.”

 _When she decided to_ have _us_ …

Jareth frowns at the thought and tucks it away—he’ll ask her about that later. For now, he’s curious about Alex’s motivations. “Why tell me all of this? I’m assuming Sarah is unaware that you’re read her personal accounts.”

Alex smiles slowly, his pale eyes reflecting frosty amusement—for a second, Jareth’s breath catches in his throat. The Goblin King is unnerved by the close resemblance—he may as well have been looking at a portrait of his younger self.

“I wanted _you_ to know that _we_ are aware of what she thinks of you,” Alex declares, his arms crossed. “We don’t know what you did to her, but whatever it was…must have been horrible.”  

Jareth releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A part of him is relieved that his sons don’t seem to know the details of his previous actions. “And your point, young Alexander?”

“You do _anything_ to her again, you answer to us.”

Jareth can’t help but throw back his head and laugh at his son’s rather threatening tone. The boy seems to have made it a point to corner him where no one else is present—Alex seems to be a rather shrewd strategist without any formal training. With proper exposure to the Court and Council, he could sharpen his skills immeasurably.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jareth replies with a sharp grin. “In the meantime, allow me to introduce you to the Goblin Council.”

\--

_(Hours later, Sarah’s apartments, Jareth’s Castle)…_

They sit across from each other. He sits in his usual pose, one leg thrown over an armrest—despite his languid posture, his muscles are tensely drawn. “Are the apartments to your liking?”

She raises a brow—the place is five times the size of her current apartment. “They’re too elaborate and spacious. It wasn’t necessary. I don’t understand why you wanted us to stay the night.”

Sighing deeply, he sits up straight. “I thought it best that _they_ get accustomed to the castle. They’re asleep, I’m assuming?”

She nods—unable to argue with his logic. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? If not, I’m heading to bed.”

He looks at her quietly for a few moments. “I saw you speak to Esiel, be wary of him, _precious thing_.”

“Esiel was the only one who showed me an ounce of kindness the last time, Jareth,” she says with a harsh laugh. “He’s climbed up the Goblin Council, I hear.”

“Your circumstances are different now—Esiel would give anything to see me deposed. You have provided two extremely powerful heirs who will continue my bloodline. You could _continue_ providing me more children ensuring my hold to the throne—he sees you as a threat…”

Comprehension dawns in her eyes— it’s painfully clear to her that her sons are seen as extensions of the Goblin King, regardless of how different they are. Lord Esiel _had_ been decidedly cold during their short exchange earlier that night. “And here I thought he’d be a friend, especially considering how we’re… _connected_.”

Jareth’s eyes narrow. “And _how_ are you connected?” His gaze sharpens as he wonders what she means.

Giving him a shrug, Sarah replies, “You got his lover killed and offered my heart as payment.” There isn’t a hint of emotion in her voice.

Jareth stills—giving himself a mental slap. _He should have seen that coming_. “How can I redeem myself, _Sarah_?”

She laughs at that—a genuine laugh without any malice. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a delicate diamond necklace. “That conversation isn’t worth having, Jareth. But you can take this back.”

Eyeing the shimmering trinket, he asks, “This wasn’t given to the Salvation Army establishment?”

“Who told you about the dress, Alex or Michael?” she counters his question with one of her own. It truth, it doesn’t matter.

Jareth looks away, a small frown furrowing his thinly arched brows. “You haven’t told them...of what transpired between us.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“They’re too young, Jareth,” she replies with a roll of her eyes. While she has indeed told them their father is dangerous, she hasn’t given them any details of her experience. She’s not so spiteful as to traumatize her children. “They know that you’re dangerous and that you’ve hurt me, that’s it. That’s what I’ve told Robert as well.”

Looking at her somewhat amusedly, Jareth wonders whether he should tell her that both the twins have read her personal diary—he decides against it. Instead, he focuses on the one question that’s been on his mind all night. “I am… _surprised_ …you chose to have the twins.” That’s all he says, his piercing gaze studying her every reaction.

Sarah turns white at his words, memories of her 18-year-old self flood her mind—how devastated she’d been, all the confusion she’d felt. “I didn’t want them at first—Karen took me to her gynecologist to terminate, but something went wrong. I went to a different clinic, and then a hospital, but the same thing happened a second time, and third, and fourth. I couldn’t go through with it the fifth time…so I went back to Karen’s doctor who did an ultrasound. There were two heartbeats.” She hadn’t looked back after that. Her eyes are misty as she’s lost in her memories—she can’t ever imagine her life without her sons. _Still_ …that had been _the_ most difficult time in her life.

Raising an arched brow, he contemplates what could have gone wrong— _it was probably their magic_ , he surmises. “I am quite grateful for your choice, _precious thing_.”

She has to stop herself from snorting in disdain. Earlier in the night Lord Esiel had told her that everything always worked in the King’s favor. “Why is it, that someone like you always gets what he wants?” she asks, mostly rhetorically. “Why don’t the laws of karma apply to you?”

“I don’t understand the word, _precious thing_ ,” he replies sincerely, but his eyes are alight with amusement. “What is this _karma_ that you speak of?”

Sarah doesn’t answer him—going off on her own tangent. “You order Vyrenis killed, you order my friends killed, you rip my life apart, and now…” she breathes in deeply, suddenly overcome with emotion at being so helpless. Taking in a few yoga breaths, she regains her composure and holds his gaze. “Karma is the belief that your actions effect your future—you get what you put out, basically.”

It’s his turn to keep himself from snorting derisively— _does she truly believe that drivel_? “Oh, my _precious_ creature,” the Goblin King croons mockingly, his voice taking on its deep lilting quality. “That’s the kind of belief pathetically weak minded individuals say to make themselves feel better. In simplest terms, you _get_ , as you say, what you _work_ for.” He flashes her a wolfish grin as he awaits her reply.

Shaking her head, she eyes him with an emotion akin to pity. “Is that what you really believe, Jareth? Have you ever been happy in your long life?” She smiles harshly when he doesn’t reply. “Did killing Vyrenis or my friends bring you joy? Or breaking my heart for that matter…”

His grin disappears. “I did not sentence your friends, _precious thing_ —their fate was decided by the lower goblin courts, as it was the goblin city they _destroyed_. I could have intervened, but I chose not to as it wasn’t my concern. Vyrenis was actively causing chaos by getting the nobles to war with each other, in the hopes that they would ultimately be dissatisfied with my rule.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, his excuses sound ridiculous to her. “I don’t need to hear this.” She leans forward to stand from her seated position so she can head to her bedroom in this elaborate apartment he’s laid out for them.

He can’t stop himself from reaching forward and grasping her wrist. “Regarding your last claim, no it did not. As I told you…before you left.” _Before you left me_ , he thinks to himself.

“Let me go,” she commands, her voice getting louder with each word, a hint of panic beginning to seep in. _He’s too goddamn strong_.

He lets her go, cursing himself inwardly—he hadn’t meant to touch her at all…he just couldn’t help himself. And just as he’s about to reply, twins’ door bursts open and both the boys immediately rush forward, towards their mother.

After a few moments of tense silence, Michael’s the first one to speak. “What the hell is going on?”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: How goes it? Sorry for the delay – I have no ultra-sad sob fest stories, my life’s been fairly good. So…you guys believe in karma?
> 
> First half—S’s first time, is it really consensual? I don’t know, IMO it’s murky at best. I skipped over the ‘loss of virginity’ and focused more on S’s reactions. Also, I remember a conversation I had in school with a friend who was all like ‘I feel like a true woman—my soul has come alive’ etc., after losing her virginity. Years later, I found out that was a total load of BS. LOL.
> 
> Being an only child with…decidedly unique…but loving parents who always told me I was the most beautiful, amazing, brilliant child ever, I’ve never really had a self-esteem problem. So…it was quite difficult writing a self-conscious, insecure (where J’s concerned), people pleaser—did I go overboard? I basically wrote someone who makes me go ‘oh, honey, nooooo.’
> 
> Q: 33 is too old to be sexy, why did you make S so old?
> 
> A: I’m guessing this is coming from the super young—30s is the sexiest time of your life kiddies. Baby fat on your face finally melts, cheekbones stand out, you’re finally rich enough to buy all the bags and shoes and sunglasses you want, your closet is divine, you can book decent vacations without relying on your parents, etc. Your gym routine will be a little more rigid, you can only smoke once in a while (nicotine, my love, how I miss you), and you can’t drink as much, but other than that, it’s fucking awesome.
> 
> So unless you have horrible ageing genes, 30s = fun times. I’m always taken aback when I read fics where an 18-year-old Sarah has a thinned out adult face and wide womanly hips. Poor girl’s going to need Botox by the time she hits 25. Same thing with womanly hips –a super slow metabolism is rare for such a young person, no?


	10. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. You get the idea.
> 
> AN: after a long back and forth with someone who hates my ANs (no hard feelings) but likes my fics, I’ve decided to post my ANs on my tmblr (which I’m still not familiar with, so bear with me)—along with a few things from my life—maybe some blog posts, who knows. I may put up a pic or two about what Michael and Alex look like. (batesybates)
> 
> I’m sorry for the delay guys. I noticed the last update was in July. I’ve had vacations and birthdays and crazy work projects to deal with—and writing these dark fics requires some deep rumination on my end as I’m generally happy to the point of being slightly manic.
> 
> Onward.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior)…_

She’s only been in his castle for three days, but she’s beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. She notices the strange glint in their eyes first, and then she starts noticing their tone—the way they speak to her is just _so_ …she can’t quite describe it. It’s almost as if they’re making fun of her, but she can’t exactly pinpoint _how_. Even how they _smile_ at her, there’s just the slightest hint of condescension to the twist of their lips.

And then there’s _him_.

She has no clue what to make of him…but she’s afraid of the level of… _intensity_ …he displays at times. Sometimes she catches him staring at her with a look of bewildered disbelief in his dual eyes—sometimes, anger. Blazing anger that’s hot enough to sear through her mortal body. And then there are times when he looks at her with indulgent, _patronizing_ humor, the kind she simply cannot stand—as if he’s her caretaker while she’s a spoiled child.

Frowning as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, the very same she uses to transport herself to her room from his castle, she counts the number of bruises on her person. He’s been…she wouldn’t use the word _rough_ …but…he’s been far more physically demanding than he’d been before. She feels a sense of _coldness_ —she can’t describe it any other way—from him. _Last night_ , a slow blush travels up her neck when she recalls the events of the previous night—he’d never made love to her like _that_ before.

_(The night before)…_

_“Hold the bar.” His voice is smooth as velvet, but his words are indubitably spoken as an order._

_She does as he asks, raising her hands above her head and curling her fingers around the bar. Her feet don’t quite touch the ground—she has to stand on her toes. She’s never felt so exposed in her life, so…_ vulnerable _. It’s as if she can feel every muscle in her body as they stretch to the fullest. The heady mix of fear and arousal sends shivers down her spine._

 _“Part your feet,” he says, no, he_ commands _, his voice lowering an octave, carrying a hint of cruel humor as if he knows the effect he has on her._

_She does as he asks, her legs trembling in anticipation—the slow, steady throbbing between her legs makes her feel like clenching her thighs together. The room is pitch dark so she can’t see a thing._

_“Jareth?” she asks quietly after a few moments pass in silence. “Where are you?”_

_He doesn’t answer her right away—choosing to absorb her naked form instead. A slow smirk twists his bow shaped lips as he sees her struggle to hold her weight on her toes—her small breasts pushed out obscenely._

_“I’m looking at you,_ Sa-rah _,” he drawls, his voice the definition of temptation. “Why are you so nervous?” He closes the distance between them in one swift stride. “Don’t you trust me?”_

_Drawing in a sharp breath as she hears him move, she stammers her response, “I do. I’ve never done anything like-”_

_He interrupts her by placing a gloved finger to her lips. “I know you haven’t, precious thing,” he croons, “I feel generous enough to teach you.” He runs his gloved fingers down her face, her neck slowly. “But you must do as I ask.”_

_Her chest rises and falls as her breath catches in her throat. Tiny beads of sweat form on the back of her neck and forehead, arousal seeps down her thigh._

_“Will you, precious thing?” he prompts when she doesn’t respond—he traces her collar bones with his fingers, drinking in her soft gasps and tremors. Her nipples tighten as she anticipates his touch—she’s so responsive. His body starts responding in kind, his blood runs hot as he feels himself harden._

_“O-okay,” she says, voice husky with desire. He hasn’t even touched her properly yet and she’s already wet. Her shallow breaths now turn to pants as he caresses the sides of her neck and shoulders, his movements deliberately slow._

_“The only thing I ask of you is that your hands stay on the bar and your feet on the floor,” he murmurs, his fingers now making their way to the tops of her breasts. “Will you promise to follow those simple instructions, Sa-rah?” he draws out her name, smiling as she shudders into his touch—her breasts now swollen and her nipples begging to be touched…but he doesn’t. Not yet. He’d held himself back so as not to frighten the mortal witless, but tonight, he feels differently—he feels as if he can’t control himself._

_“Yes,” she says, a moan forming on her lips as his fingers graze her hypersensitive nipples. “Jareth,” she gasps as he takes his hands away from her breasts, aching for his touch._

_A slow laugh. “What is it, precious thing? What do you want?” He laughs cruelly when she doesn’t answer—mortals and their inhibitions. “Do you want me to touch you, Sa-rah?” he asks, tracing her hardened nipples with the tips of his fingers, his touch feather light._

_Breath hitching in her throat, she almost screams in frustration. It’s not enough to ease the agonizing pain—her skin feels like it’s on fire. His voice alone is enough to awaken this voracious need within her. “Please, Jareth,” she whispers._

_“Here?” he asks, his hands suddenly rough—he presses into a large bruise on her shoulder._

_She cries out in pain at his sudden, unexpected assault._

_“Shh,” he whispers, his lips latch onto her nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. His skilled hands knead the soft flesh of her chest, teasing her into a near painful state of arousal. He laughs as he hears her let out a strangled gasp. “Already so aroused,” he murmurs against her skin. “It wouldn’t take much for you to go over the edge, would it, precious?”_

_Fighting the urge to let go of the bar and run her hands through her body, she tries pleading for mercy. “Please.”_

_Jareth chuckles darkly. “I do intend to please, precious thing,” he rumbles, his fingers now caressing her sides—running across her stomach sending little sparks of electric heat down their paths. “But on my terms,” he says before running his lips down her throat and suckling the skin above her throbbing pulse. He leaves a searing trail of light kisses down her neck to the tops of her breasts._

_Sarah’s breathing turns slow and labored. The sensations he evokes in her—it’s all too much. She feels like she’s going to explode any second if he doesn’t touch her right now. “Jar-“” her voice dies as he places a hot, open mouthed kiss on her already over stimulated nipple._

_“I suggest you stop talking, precious thing—you must listen.” His fingers now caress her back in circular strokes. “Or I will gag you.”_

_She gasps, her mouth wide open. He wouldn’t…would he?_

_A slow smile—oh precious, you’re so easily shocked. “You look decadent,” he murmurs, his fingers running along her thighs. “Your feet apart, your clitoris peeking out begging to be touched…so fucking wet.” A surge of lust flows through his veins as he resists the overwhelming need to take her standing up._

_Closing her eyes, she throws her head back—she imagines him pulling her thighs apart, his fingers rough as he devours her, his tongue circling her clit, his relentless fingers pumping inside her until she screams out her release. God, when had she turned so depraved? The vivid imagery combined with a feeling of shame only heightens her need, and she lets out a piercing moan._

_Taking hold of his raging passions, Jareth holds her chin in his fingers, looking directly at her even if she can’t see him. “How is it that you have this effect on me, Sa-rah?”_

_She shudders at his tone—something had definitely changed. There’s quiet, contained fury in his voice. “I don’t-”_

_He cuts her off with a ferocious kiss, his fingers simultaneously pressing against the flesh right above her clit. He pulls his body against hers, letting her feel the heat of his erection…but still, he doesn’t touch her pulsing clit as he pleasures her ruthlessly without giving her any chance of release._

_Drowning. She feels like she’s drowning in a haze of pleasure—his lips against hers, hard enough to bruise. His fingers pressing intimately against her flesh, drawing blood to her clit—the line between pleasure and pain blurs and she feels like she’s starving. Unable to control herself any longer, she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against herself—groaning as she feels his erection press directly onto her throbbing clit._

_And just like that, he steps away from her, chuckling darkly as he hears her moans of protest. “Your feet were off the ground, Sa-rah,” he says with a mocking lilt. “You weren’t able follow my simple instructions.”_

_Struggling to normalize her breathing, she automatically leans into the direction of his voice—her hands still hold the bar above her head. She’s so aroused at this moment, she’ll go mad if he leaves her like this. “Please Jareth,” she pleads, “It hurts.”_

_His chuckle turns into a full throated laugh. “But you must face some sort of repercussion, no? After all, you did promise, and words have power…don’t they?” He gently runs a finger down her cheek before reaching in between her legs and lightly touching her clitoris._

_Gasping hoarsely, she struggles to stand as he continues caressing her clit—his touch unbearably light. “Anything,” she whimpers—at this point, she’ll do anything he says._

_“Good girl,” he croons, stepping away from her once again. “I’ll deal with that later…” he removes his clothing, one article at a time—enjoying watching her writhe in frustration. “But now,” he whispers hotly in her ear, “I’d rather do this.” With those words, he pushes inside her in one fluid motion, groaning as her walls clench against his cock._

“What are you thinking, precious thing?” His deep, lilting voice disrupts her memories of the previous night—the twinkle in his eye tells her he knows _exactly_ what she’s thinking.

“Last night,” she says, cursing her genes—why did she have to blush so easily!

“I was thinking the very same thing,” he rumbles, stalking towards her slowly. “You recall saying you’d do anything?”

Her eyes widen as her heartrate spikes—he sounds so… _serious_. “Um…yeah.”

A slow, predatory smile. “Good.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Sarah puts on a façade of strength. “Michael, Alexander,” she says, voice stern. “What have I told you about listening in on my conversations with Jareth?”

It’s Alex who speaks up this time—his mother rarely uses the full form of his name, so he knows he’s in trouble. “Not to do it.”

“We weren’t listening in—we heard you raise your voice,” Michael jumps in, eager to get both of them out of trouble.

“May I?” Jareth asks Sarah, a hint of amusement in his deep voice—he smiles when she nods and looks towards his sons, his eyes narrowing as he concentrates. “It’s the truth.”

Michael watches the exchange with his mouth open. “What are you, a human lie detector?”

Jareth looks at the boy for a few seconds before breaking out into deep, rich laughter. “I thought the very first thing I established was that I’m decidedly not human.”

“Fine. Walking lie detector, then,” Michael mumbles, annoyed at his mistake.

“What did you do…I could feel you in my head,” Alex asks, his voice quiet, but his eyes shine with unbridled interest, belying his curiosity.

Just as Jareth is about to answer, Sarah steps in, her arms crossed resolutely. “We can discuss that later, go to bed.”

“But mom-” Michael begins protesting before he’s silenced by his mother’s stern glare. “Uh, sure, we’ll go to bed.” The twins give each other a covert look before bidding goodnight and heading to one of their allotted rooms.

“They’ve been provided with separate bed chambers,” Jareth says. “But I’m not surprised—twice bonded twins are known for… _sharing_.”

Sarah shakes her head in warning. “Don’t,” she says softly. “There’s only so much new information I can handle.”

Bowing his head, Jareth concedes. “Of course.” He stalks over to where he was previously seated and settles down, his eyes intent on hers. “I would allow you some rest, but I fear there are matters we need to discuss, _precious thing_. Let’s try and have a conversation without any further incidents.”

 _Of all the fucking nerve!_ Sarah’s temper rages at his arrogance—as if _she_ were the one to caused incidents. _Keep calm, Williams_ , she tells herself _, he’s trying to do this on purpose_ — _don’t play the weak, emotional human to his cool and collected Fae king._

Eyeing the murderous look of rage written cross her face, he chuckles as she manages to keep her emotions under the surface. Not bad. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the empty armchair across from him.

She sits down as he asks, somehow keeping herself from glaring at him. Her anger would only seek to amuse him and she refuses to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe we can have this conversation next time, Jareth. We’re leaving tomorrow so it’s not like there’s more protocol to go over.”

Jareth’s gaze turns sharp. “About that, _precious thing_ …” he pauses, studying her with his predatory eyes. “Could I persuade you to spend one more day? Michael and Alexander can tour the castle and spend some time with the Goblin Council.” He raises a hand when she opens her mouth to protest. “I know this isn’t what we had scheduled, but current circumstances make it such that they must get accustomed to this place sooner rather than later.”

Sarah doesn’t feel the boiling rage that she’d felt earlier—instead her anger morphs into ice cold numbness. “That isn’t what we’d agreed to, Jareth.”

The Goblin King raises a laconic brow. “It’s for their safety, Sarah. Be reasonable.”

Fixing him with a frosty glare, Sarah replies, “You waited till the last minute on purpose, knowing I’d have refused if you’d asked me in the beginning.”

“No, _precious thing_. You wouldn’t have refused in the beginning—but convincing you would have taken longer.” His tone is matter-of-fact and the spark in his eyes victorious, he knows he’s won this small battle.

Sarah sighs—he has her pinned. She’d do anything for her sons’ safety, including spending time in this ream so that they get accustomed to their role. It’s an easy way to manipulate her, and she knows that he’s going to use it to his advantage.

And just like that, her carefully construed façade begins to slip. She struggles to breathe as an onslaught of overwhelming emotions threaten to drive her insane. The reality of her sons’ having to be a part of this vicious world makes her stomach churn until she’s nauseous—as does sitting so close to _him_. In spite of everything he’s done, all the harm he’s caused her, she still feels a sense of _sickening_ attraction to the Goblin King, who sit across from her, as calm as ever.

Clenching her trembling hands into fists, Sarah stands up abruptly. “Whatever you say, Jareth,” she says through gritted teeth before whirling around and making her way to her so called room. “I need to be alone for a while—please don’t invade my space.” She doesn’t even turn around as she says the words—she’ll be damned if she lets him see the tears in her eyes.

The Goblin King stares at mortal woman’s retreating form, a sigh escaping his lips. Sarah hadn’t taken it well, like he’d predicted. _Still_ —it is for the best. His sons are woefully unprepared for anything—they had never practiced magic, nor had they been trained in the art of battle, or even court protocol. He realizes the prudent course of action now would be to leave Sarah alone for the night and head back for some sleep… _but he can’t_.

Laughing at himself bitterly, Jareth walks over to Sarah’s room and listens with his avian senses.

\--

_(Sarah’s allotted room)…_

She gives in to her tears the moment she knows she’s alone, making sure to keep her sobs quiet. She hates feeling like this—so helpless, unable to protect her sons when she’d sworn to protect them against him. Leaning against the wall, she slides down until she sits on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Sarah.” The Goblin King’s resonant voice interrupts her grief. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him, too exhausted to demand that he leave her room this instant—it’s his castle, so it’s _his_ room. She knows he can do anything he pleases—she’d learned that the first time around. “Can’t you give me the dignity of crying alone in this room that you’ve allegedly given me?”

Jareth purses his lips—he doesn’t like the sight of her so broken—he never had. “I was concerned.” That’s all he can manage, anything else would sound disingenuous.

Raising her brows, Sarah gapes at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re _concerned_?” she asks, incredulous. “And so you choose to invade my privacy when I’m at my weakest—so you can what? Study what sets me off?”

“No,” he replies vehemently, untamed emotion in his voice—he runs a slender hand through his wild mane. “I…”

“What?” Sarah asks, curiosity winning over anger. “You, what?”

Letting out a harsh breath, Jareth turns away from his mortal weakness. “I don’t want to cause you pain.”

She can’t help but laugh at his newfound conscience. “You truly believe that, don’t you? You think it’s that easy,” she pauses to laugh some more. “You do realize that’s all you’ve done?”

He turns to look her in the eyes, his gaze intense enough to run a shiver up her spine. “Not anymore—I swear I’ll do everything in my power to keep you and our sons safe.”

She stares at him, dumbfounded. She’s smart enough not to believe everything he says—yet she can clearly see that he’s being genuine. Or at least trying to be. “You can start by leaving,” she declares, a challenge to her voice. “We’ll join you for breakfast tomorrow.”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jareth clearly doesn’t understand human emotions, does he?
> 
> AN: so I finally conceded—I’ve kept from calling Jareth ‘Fae’ in all of my fics, but I had to make him one in this.
> 
> Q—how tall is Sarah in your fic?
> 
> A—she’s 5’8’’ generally (that’s taller than JC) and I like a tall Sarah because I think a sleek and sexy look suits the character well (personally, I’m more of an Audrey Hepburn / Jackie O kind of dresser but I like a chiseled, glamorous, Gucci model circa when Frida Giannini took over, Sarah—goes with Jareth well). Also, writing sex scenes is way easier. As someone who’s 5’4’’ and has only ever been in serious relationships with and (eventually got married to) – men who’re well over 6’ (I have a ‘short girl complex’)… lemme tell you that height dynamics makes certain positions complicated and sometimes, unintentionally hilarious.
> 
> Q—amalgamation of questions regarding what Sarah looks like in the first half:
> 
> A—she’s 18, so she’s reached her full height, but she’s still filling out—has slim hips and breasts are still forming. I’m a 30D or 32C depending on the brand, and I didn’t reach that cup size until I was 20/21 so I’m going to put Sarah in the same boat. I’m so curious as to when everybody else developed grown up breasts (b/c ‘Sarah’ always seems to have ginormo boobs at 18 in fanfics)…but that’s one of those personal questions that I shouldn’t ask strangers on the internet, or so I’m told, so I’m going to refrain (*curses curiosity*). She’s pretty, still has baby fat on face, long, straight hair and eyebrows shaped just a bit better than the movie.
> 
> Sorry AN hater—I just had to put these in here—but next time onwards, I swear to keep my ANs only on tmblr. Unless I don’t feel like it. Mehehe. But seriously though, the super long ones will go on tmblr.


	11. Coercion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> Trigger warning: sensitive material for those who’ve gone through/ overcome sexual abuse/ coercion/ violence.
> 
> AN: there are certain events that are ‘alluded to’ and not explicitly written…it’s pretty self-evident. Also –there’s a little interlude in between the past and the present.
> 
> Dear reviewers—you guys are amazing. Thanks a ton. Will respond when I have the chance.

 

 

**-**

_(15 years prior)…_

He clenches his hands into tight fists, trying to get a hold of himself. This time around, he’d blindfolded her instead of the courtier…or courtiers in this case—furthermore, this time around, he hadn’t stayed. He clenches his hands a little tighter, he hadn’t been _able_ to stay. He’d felt her trepidation, her anxious little mortal heart beating into a frenzy—but she hadn’t denied his requests.

Perhaps she really is _in love_ with him—the thought ignites his agitation. Conjuring up a crystal, he throws the shiny orb across the room with vehement force—it clashes against the cold, stone wall and shatters into a thousand crystalline shards, releasing a burst of magic strong enough to shake the foundations of the castle.

Just as he’s about to throw another crystal towards the wall, he’s interrupted by a high pitched laugh. “You seem… _disturbed_ …my love.”

He turns around, his face, once again, a mask of cold indifference, belying the ravaging storm that brews in his chest. “Why are you here?”

The golden haired assassin flashes him a Cheshire cat like grin as she walks over to where he stands, her movements slow and graceful. “Do you suppose the innocent little mortal is enjoying herself?”

His face remains indifferent, but his blood runs hot with fury. An unknown emotion rages in his chest, a strange feeling of possessiveness—it takes tremendous self-control to keep himself from transporting to where he’d placed the unsuspecting mortal.

Raeyn breaks into peals of laughter that echo against the walls, her chimerical eyes, however, are as sharp as a hawk’s. “Do you suppose she’s crying for you in the throes of passion…screaming your name?” She lifts her hand to trail her fingers down his chest, only to inhale sharply when he catches her wrist in an unyielding grip.

“Why are you here?” he repeats, his voice a lash of a whip.

With a knowing smile on her full lips, Raeyn responds, “Or do you suppose she’s crying for a _different_ reason, my love? Perhaps she’s wondering why her beloved Goblin King has left her so exposed and vulnerable—her poor mortal morals wreaking havoc in her mind? After all, she’s completely inexperienced, isn’t she?” Her smile turns victorious when she catches a flicker of emotion in his unwavering gaze.

Feeling a surge of rage engulf his senses, Jareth physically pushes his lover so that she stumbles on her feet. “Get out,” he says, his voice holding quiet, carefully contained fury that would have made his council members tremble in fear.

Raeyn puts on a mock-hurt expression. “Have I caused you any offense, Your Grace?”

Jareth eyes her warily—“You have.”

Letting out a throaty laugh, Raeyn gives the furious monarch a wicked wink. “I can read the dissonance on your face—you wish to rescue your little mortal and keep her all for yourself…yet…. _yet_ you won’t.”

The dam breaks—the Goblin King’s eyes flash with uncontrolled rage. The castle walls tremble as Jareth’s magic flows, unrestrained. “Do _not_ speak of her.”

“ _Her_?” Raeyn repeats, her voice holding a certain uncharacteristic harshness. “She was never a target of mine, my love… _you_ , on the other hand.” She pauses as a slow smile twists her lips. “You put her through misery long after our game ended.”

A cold feeling of dread creeps into Jareth’s heart as he realizes the truth prevalent in her words—their game _had_ indeed ended after their last conversation. Yet he’d taken it upon himself to prove something to himself—a feat he hadn’t managed to accomplish. Forcing down his rampaging emotions, Jareth fights to keep his expression under control. “Why?” he asks, his dual eyes narrowing into slits as he studies the victorious woman standing across from him.

Raeyn stands tall, her shoulders drawn back, her pose utterly triumphant as if she’s been waiting for this exact moment for a long time. “I wanted you to know what it feels like to lose yourself to another, Your Grace. It’s not a nice feeling, is it?”

He stares at her, his frosty eyes holding an element of surprise.

Mock-sighing dramatically when he doesn’t answer, Raeyn circles him slowly, her movements gracefully predatory, yet playful all the same. “After _everything_ you’ve done, _my love_ ,” she addresses him teasingly, “…every… _cruel_ …action, every unwarranted execution, every time you put unsuspecting mortals through your puzzle box, turning them insane, all the trials you held when taking over this very throne…” her voice drifts off, and her eyes twinkle gleefully as she notices his jaw tense.

“What is your point?”

She laughs. “So impatient, Your Grace,” she addresses him formally this time. “Do you believe you can erase everything you’ve done?”

The room grows glaringly hot as Jareth’s magic expands—his face turns feral as he bares his teeth in a vicious snarl. “You think to judge me?” His words, however, are spoken with an eerie calmness.

If she’s afraid, Raeyn doesn’t show it—instead, she gives him another flirtatious wink. “Judge? _Me_?” She laughs at the thought. “No, Your Grace. Justice doesn’t hold any motivation, not for me anyway.” Leaning into him, she places her face inches from his. “ _She_ , on the other hand, will judge you for the rest of her short, mortal life.”

And just like that, the Goblin King loses control—his magic flows completely unhinged, the sheer force of which brings the assassin to her knees. “You will leave my castle at once, Raeyn,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Leave my Kingdom. Should you return without my explicit permission, I will end you.”

She smiles at her lover serenely—she’s never seen such an emotional display from him before—the thought makes her all the more triumphant. But she knows him enough, she’s _studied_ him enough, more accurately, to realize that he means what he says—this isn’t the time to test his patience.

Struggling to stand against the force of his magic, she manages to give him a small bow. “Until we meet again, Your Grace. That is, of course, if you’re still the Goblin King. I don’t suppose the Goblin Council will take too kindly to your… _weakness_.” Saying that, the golden haired assassin disappears from the Goblin King’s castle, leaving behind an echo of her trademark, silvery laugh.

Repeating her words in his mind, Jareth purses his lips, deciding on the next course of action. Whatever he may feel for the mortal could be explored later, for now, he has to make sure his… _weakness_ …stays contained and within his grasp.

\--

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams, aged 25)…_

She takes a deep breath and shudders in revulsion. “I just…froze. I knew I didn’t want it—it wasn’t like he _forced_ me to do it. I couldn’t say no.”

Dr. Meyer, Sarah’s trusted therapist for the last six years, nods. She’s finally gotten her patient to open up about the traumatic events from her past—she doesn’t want to push the young woman too far. “Did you feel that ‘no’ was an acceptable response?”

She looks up. “Not really—I thought he’d end it because I wasn’t good enough. And those… _people_ …the way they were made me think I was being unreasonable....”

“You’ve said before that these people were far older than you, correct?” The doctor asks matter-of-factly—there’s no sympathy in her voice, neither is there judgment. “And they would have known you were only 18?”

Sarah looks away—that’s not exactly the case, she doesn’t know how she can explain the situation without sounding completely insane. It’s impossible. Suppressing a bitter laugh, she shakes her head. “They didn’t care either way, they were acting on his orders.”

“You speak of this man as if he’s a cult leader—these people blindly followed all his orders.”

She can’t help but laugh at ‘cult leader’—a strangled, desperate sound. “I guess he could have been a really powerful cult leader, but he wasn’t. He was something else.”

Dr. Meyer frowns as she assesses the situation—what could the man have been? The head of a criminal organization? A movie producer? “He did not participate?”

“No…he left me there and I let him.” Swallowing down a sudden rush of nausea, she continues, voice shaky, “…at first I was so nervous, and I was trembling violently. And then…” she pauses as tears prick the back of her eyes. “And then it started feeling good… _sickeningly_ good. Every time I tried saying no, someone would kiss me gently, nothing felt forced—GOD, I was so fucking stupid!” She holds her head in her hands as shivers run down her spine.

“Sarah?” The doctor prompts when her patient doesn’t surface after a few seconds. “We may discuss this another time if you’re feeling uncomfortable. The fact that you’re willing to talk about what happened means we’ve made considerable progress—we don’t have to try scaling new heights.”

Sarah looks up, a frantic expression on her face. “Do I even have the _right_ to feel _violated_? I didn’t say no—I didn’t push anyone off of me. I…” she stumbles, “…I even enjoyed some of the things they were doing.” She looks away from her doctor, suddenly embarrassed, “I was so stupid—I could have said no to him. I would have if I wasn’t so scared…if he wasn’t so terrifying.”

Dr. Meyer’s ears perk up at her frightened tone. “If there was any violence from his end, you _could_ press charges. And as for your question, you have every right to feel violated—never question it.”

Sarah shakes her head at both statements. “Trust me, I can’t press charges. The law doesn’t apply to him.” He _is_ the goddamned law in his Kingdom.

_-There’s complete silence in the doctor’s office for a few minutes as Sarah stares into space, lost in her memories-_

“This man,” Dr. Meyer begins, keeping her tone mild—she doesn’t want to push Sarah into a corner lest she freeze. “Is there anything else you can divulge about him?”

Sarah can’t hold her tears any longer—streams of fresh tears trickle down her face as she dry heaves a few times. “He’s…he’s Michael and Alex’s father and I’m _terrified_ they’ll turn out like him.”

“What makes you sure it’s him—especially considering that there were others.” Dr. Meyer keeps her tone somewhat light—such a personal question could be misconstrued as unsympathetic, but asking personal questions allows her to do her job—there’s no way around asking them.

“They didn’t—the _men_ didn’t penetrate me vaginally with their… _you know_. And the boys look exactly like he does.”

The doctor nods curtly, ready to move on. “There are a few avenues of treatment I’d recommend from here on, Sarah—first, continue therapy with me. Second, there’s an excellent group therapy session for victims of sexual violence and coercion, which takes place every Tuesday evening at Brookfield, I believe your insurance would cover that. Would you be interested?”

Sarah nods—after all, what does she have to lose?

Dr. Meyer smiles—there’s certain a fighting spirit within the young woman, perhaps she stands a chance. “I know you’re busy with law school, but if you can hop on over to Columbia on Thursday evenings, I know a professor who’s doing a course on victims regaining their power… _authority_ over themselves. It’s not traditional therapy, but I think it’ll help.”

“That sounds great,” Sarah replies, feeling a little more cheerful—as much as therapy has helped her overcome her panic attacks and nightmares, she’d still prefer something that’s not so sterile.

“Sarah, if you ever feel that you want to go ahead with pressing charges against this man, I’ll point you towards someone who can help.”

Sarah smiles graciously. “Thank you, Dr. Meyer—but as I said, that’s not possible.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“I told you, we should have taken a left after that ridiculous vase.”

“Yeah, well, your ‘I told you’ isn’t helping Michael.” Alex looks around the enormous, empty hallway and realizes they’re completely lost. And then he realizes something _far_ more frightening. “Mom’s going to kill us if she finds us out of bed.”

“I can’t believe this,” Michael grumbles. “If she kills us, it’s because of your shitty spatial skills.”

“Considering it was your idea to scale the castle after they’d gone to sleep, I think she’ll kill you first,” Alex replies with a grin—one that’s returned by his brother.

“Either way, we’re both fucked,” Michael assesses, swearing with all the freedom of a 14-year-old who doesn’t have his mother within hearing distance. “Let’s just keep going.”

Alex rolls his eyes at that. “Trust you to get further into trouble instead of trying to get out.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Michael asks with a brow raise. An expression quite similar to that of the Goblin King’s, Alex notes.

“Maybe we should try going back—mom’s going to ban you from the game next week if she finds you out of bed. It’s not like she’ll ban _me_ from playing the piano.”

Groaning as he realizes his brother’s correct, _as always_ , Michael nods, finally relenting. “Okay, but this time, we follow my instincts. If you did something fun instead of playing the piano, she’d have something to actually threaten you with.”

Just as the boys are about to turn around, a hiss of menacing laughter stops them in their tracks—they turn to see a golden haired man leaning against the hallway wall.

“May I ask what the Goblin Princes are doing out of their chambers…so late in the night?” The man’s voice holds uncontained glee, his eyes gleam with laughter.

“No, you may not ask,” Michael answers him with all the arrogance of a star lacrosse athlete. “Next time, don’t begin a question with ‘may I ask’?”

The man moves faster than their eyes can follow—in a blur, he has a sharpened dagger pressed against Alex’s throat—his eyes are intent on Michael’s. “You are quite humorous, little prince,” the man tilts his head as Michael’s eyes widen. “Unfortunately, the price of your humor shall have you witness your brother’s death.”

Even though he’s never faced this kind of violence before, Michael doesn’t hesitate in responding. With all his strength, he hurls himself against the attacker who threatens his brother’s life…only to feel like he’s hit a wall. He crumbles to the floor while the golden haired man laughs.

“The Goblin King’s heirs can’t use magic?” The man questions Alex, pressing the blade tighter. “This makes my task all the more-” The man doesn’t complete his thought—his voice dies in his throat as he stands there—completely immobilized.

“You thought to kill my heirs within my own castle, Jors?” The Goblin King’s voice resonates against the stark, empty hallway—his boots click harshly against the cold, stone floor as he approaches them.

Michael, standing up with a smile on his bruised face, grins at his attacker as he helps his brother out of Jors’ grasp. “ _Jors_ —your name is _Jors_? Does your business card say _Jors the killer_?”

Jareth’s eyes blaze with untamed fury as he looks at his sons. “The two of you shall stand behind me,” his tone is chillingly calm as he addresses them. “ _Now_.”

Giving each other a sheepish look, the boys do as they’re told—the look in their father’s eyes keeping them in line. The only sound they make is startled gasps when they see the man disappear before their eyes.

Jareth stares at his sons for an excruciating few seconds, a small smile forming on his lips as he takes in their nervousness. “As… _foolish_ an action as roaming the castle halls may have been, I believe you’ll find tomorrow’s impromptu events to be quite _educational_.”

Raising a questioning brow, Michael looks at Alex—unsure what to make of the Goblin King’s statement. “I have no clue what you just said,” he says with a nervous laugh, deciding to go with the truth. “I thought we were leaving tomorrow morning?”

Alex narrows his eyes as he studies the Goblin King, a frown forming on his young face when he sees the King’s face break out into a smile. There’s no way his mother would have given in to staying here for another day—he can sense that she can’t stand the place. That meant, she’d been forced to agree.

“There’s been a slight change of plans, a _few plans_ rather,” Jareth replies, amused. “I thought to introduce you to the Goblin Council at lunch tomorrow…however, you’ll meet them after breakfast at the trial.”

“What trial?” Michael asks, still confused. “ _Whose_ trial?”

“ _That_ man’s trial,” Alex answers him before turning to his father. “You’re putting Jors on trial for attempted murder?”

A rich, throaty laugh. “You could call it that. You could call it anything you want as the two of you will stand as judges.” Saying that, he transports all three of them to the sitting area of their apartments.

Michael momentarily forgets his father’s contained fury as he eyes his surroundings. “That is _so_ fucking cool. Would have been so much easier if we could do that.”

Throwing his head back, Jareth laughs a genuine laugh. “You _can_ with some training.”

Alex, however, isn’t impressed—he regards his father coldly. “How did you get mom to agree to stay tomorrow? What did you say to her?” That’s enough to sober up Michael—he crosses his arms and studies his father’s responses.

Jareth merely shrugs, a spark of amusement still lighting his dual eyes. “I told her the truth,” he lilts mildly before his gaze turns ice cold. “Speaking of Sarah, you’re not to tell her of tonight’s events until after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Mom says we should never keep secrets from her—especially regarding you,” Alex states defiantly, the tone of his voice matching the look in his father’s eyes.

A slight frown forming on his forehead, Jareth explains himself—he’d _never_ thought he’d find himself in a position where he had to explain his motivations to a 14-year-old. “Sarah is exhausted, she needs rest—she’s mortal, unlike the both of you. I hardly saw her eat anything tonight, so wait until after she’s done with breakfast.”

“Sure,” Michael agrees quickly—after seeing his mother completely drained of energy a few weeks ago, he does not want to ever go through a similar situation…neither does he want to be banned from playing next week. “In fact,” he says, tone conspiratorial, “…we don’t have to tell her _at all_!”

Alex shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “We’re not lying to mom so you can get out of trouble.”

With a snap of his fingers, Jareth commands the attention of the boys. “The two of you shall retire for the night,” he states, his voice a command. “If you leave the premises of these apartments, which have been enchanted with the fullest protection I can offer, your mother shall be the _least_ of your concerns. I shall be happy to hand you over to one of my courtiers who’ll demonstrate how we discipline unruly children in the Underground.”

Michael raises his brows, but decides not to test the Goblin King’s patience. “Alrighty then,” he states, holding onto Alex’s arm as they walk towards their room. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just as Jareth is about to transport himself back to his chambers, he hears Michael whisper to his brother, “Fuck Vader. This guy’s a million times scarier, even if he dresses like _that_.”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: On the jealous bitch girlfriend trope—
> 
> I thought I’d do the whole ‘dumb jealous bitch’ ex-girlfriend some justice and have her seek revenge by doing something else apart from making fun of Sarah’s looks. Raeyn’s motivations are – she figures she’s in love with Jareth (she doesn’t want to be), realizes he’s in love with someone else, so she decides to break him down. Instead of being the usual jealous bitch who calls Sarah ugly and fat and begs Jareth to marry her instead, Raeyn manipulates him into fucking up his own life…successfully. She only ever made subtle suggestions—it’s Jareth who decides to act. Sarah’s only collateral damage in Raeyn’s mind.
> 
> To me, Raeyn, as ‘evil’ as she is, is an admirable character. She certainly knows how to best serve revenge—as an ice cold dish.
> 
> On Jareth—
> 
> Jareth clearly didn’t know (hadn’t even bothered to think about, actually) the kind of long-term-effects his actions would have on Sarah—that, when fucked with, in that manner, humans take a long time to recover—in Sarah’s case it’s changed her perception of sex and how she relates to it, even as a 33-year-old adult.
> 
> Q: Does Jareth’s willful ignorance make him somewhat more redeemable?
> 
> A: Would love to know what you think. On a scale of 1 to 5. With 1 being ‘absolutely, he’s excused’ to 5 being ‘are you fucking kidding me?! Of course not.’


	12. Ramifications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> AN: Sorry for the delay guys. Was going to post this this weekend but my nights were booked with charity events and practicing for a synchronized flash mob type dance performance (don’t even ask, my husband signed me up for this without even asking. I’m going to write a book called ‘How to Keep Yourself from Murdering Your Spouse.’) Thanks for taking part in my little experiment. My response is 5. When it comes to S, J is irredeemable. But that doesn’t necessarily [take note of this word] mean he’s irredeemable in other aspects of his life. More on this below.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior)…_

He eyes the mortal girl with part annoyance and part pity—she sits by the window, eyes lost as if she’s gazing into nothingness. He frowns as he takes in her desolation, it has been three days since. Surely, she should be over it by now?

For his part, he’d reassured her, to the best of his ability—that she did not have to repeat the experience. _What more can he do_? A spark of fury lights up in his chest as he sees that her lunch remains untouched. She’d hardly eaten the night before and a creeping tendril of anxiety seeps into his mind—mortals were weak.

“Sarah.” His tone is clipped—he takes the untouched plate to where she sits. “Stop acting like a child.”

She turns around slowly—she looks frail, but her gaze is resilient. “I’d like to go home now.” The words are spoken softly, but they hold a strong undercurrent of emotion.

Raising a sardonic brow, he grins at the sudden resurgence of her strength. “Eat your lunch first, _precious thing_.” He places the plate next to her and eyes her indulgently.

She looks at the plate of cold food before looking back at him—her gaze hardens. “I feel sick.”

Something tightens in his chest as he feels a rush of emotion he can’t quite identify. The manner in which she looks at him has changed. _She_ has changed. “Regardless,” he admonishes, voice colder, “I will not have you starve yourself.”

Holding his gaze with fire in hers, she stabs at her food and takes a reluctant bite. “I tried using the mirror,” she says, indicating the vanity mirror which stands in ruins, completely shattered. “It didn’t work.”

A rich, throaty laugh. “Oh you _precious_ thing—did you throw something at the mirror?”

There’s an eerie glow of possessiveness in his eyes—her body reacts instinctively. She pushes the plate of food aside, unable to eat another bite as her stomach churns with sudden anxiety. “I need to go home,” she repeats, her voice sounding weaker with each word she utters.

He sighs deeply before running his hands through her hair in a soothing motion. “Hush now,” he rumbles, holding the trembling girl to his chest. “I’m afraid there are certain circumstances that are beyond my control, _precious thing_. And as such…” he buries his face in her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent. He doesn’t feel the need to deny his feelings for the mortal any longer. “…you are required to stay here. _With me_.”

_‘You are required to stay here. With me.’ What does he mean?_

Her heart hammers in her chest as she takes in his words. “For how long?” she asks, pulling away to look him in the eyes. She can sense something isn’t right—something about him is different. 

His lips curl into a bone chilling smile. “Not long at all, my _darling_ girl.”

She gulps down the lump in her throat as she tries to find her voice. “I start college next week—I need to go back.”

“ _Oh_?” he asks, mocking her as one mocks a disobedient child. “Do you really?”

“Yes,” she whispers, voice shaky. “I thought I’d say hello to my friends before leaving.” Every time she’s brought up her friends from the Labyrinth, he’s changed the subject. She knows, deep inside, that she will not return to this place again—this is the only chance she has to see them.

Just like that, his eyes turn biting cold with icy fury. “Ah yes…your _friends_.” He enunciates each word as his voice turns harsh. “I’m afraid they have ceased to exist, my dear.”

The thudding in her chest turns painful. “What do you mean?” Surprisingly, her voice comes out steady—she feels something else apart from debilitating fear.

A slow, cruel smile. “I meant exactly what I said, _precious thing_.”

 _They have ceased to exist_ … _did that mean_ …? _No_. She clenches her fists and fights to keep her panic at bay.

“What did you do to them?” she demands, a fresh bout of nausea makes her stomach lurch vehemently.

“ _I_?” he asks with a raised brow, a flicker of amusement in his voice. “Absolutely nothing. The lower goblin courts on the other hand…” he lets the thought drift off. His lips twist with malicious delight when he sees her falter. He raises a gloved hand to brush a tendril of her hair behind her ears.

She trembles violently before shoving his hand away with as much force as she can gather. “Enough stalling, Jareth,” she says, her voice holding uncontrolled anger. “What happened to my friends?”

“The kitten has claws,” he responds with raised brows, unfazed but surprised by her display of anger. The harsh lines of his face settle into a mask of cruel amusement. “Your friends, _precious thing_ , were sentenced to death.”

Blood roars in her ears—pushing him aside, she rushes into the bathroom, making it just in time before throwing up the meager contents of her lunch.

He studies her with cool detachment, he _hadn’t_ expected her to hold out for as long as she did. Conjuring up a cold towel, he wipes her face. “The lower courts’ decision was beyond my control, _darling_ girl.”

Refusing to look at him, she pulls herself away from his embrace. “I don’t believe you—everybody here does exactly what you tell them to do. You could have stopped it from happening.” Her stomach lurches violently yet again, and she kneels down—this time she throws up only water and stomach acid.

“I make it a point not to intervene with goblin law, it’s what ensures their loyalty.” Kneeling down beside her, he pulls her up and takes her to the wash basin.

She splashes cold water onto her face, and takes the towel from him. It isn’t lost on her that he’s the one who soothes away her pain after causing it. An entirely different thought overtakes her mind and her blood runs cold. “Is that why you brought me here—to sentence me to death?” She’s surprised at how calm her voice sounds, belying the mélange of emotions underneath the surface.

A dark chuckle. “No my dear, _what_ you must think of me,” he mock-chides, his eyes dance with mirth. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you entered this realm of your own accord, did you not?”

“I…” her voice dies as she takes in his feral smile. “You said it was for a week.”

“ _Did_ I?” He places his fingers to his lips. “Well then, _my darling_ , I suppose I lied.”

\--

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams, aged 22)…_

“Everything alright, Sarah?”

She looks up at her self-defense instructor, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m sorry about that Brad. Got a little carried away today.”

Brad flashes her a million-watt smile. His otherwise sleek face is slightly dimpled. “I thought you were going to give me a black eye,” he says, putting on an exaggeratedly afraid expression. “And then I’d be unemployed for the foreseeable future.”

Sarah laughs—she finds Brad’s cheerfulness contagious. “Why is that?”

He gives her a look, his hazel eyes warm. “Considering I’m 6’4’’ and 220 pounds…and you’re probably half that…?” he grins when she interrupts him with a scoff. “Okay, fine, _significantly_ less than that. What kind of self-defense instructor has his ass handed to him by a student?”

She grins back. “A really good one? You can give me a cheesy one-liner like ‘the student has become the master.’”

Brad laughs at that. “I didn’t take you for someone who watches kung fu movies, Sarah.”

“I have a 7-year-old brother,” Sarah replies with a shrug. “And two sons who’re 3. There’ll be lots of kung fu movies in _my_ foreseeable future.”

Brad nods—he’s still surprised every time Sarah mentions her sons. She’s a few years younger than him—it’s difficult for him to imagine that she has two young children and the immense responsibilities that come with the territory. It also makes him wonder about her enthusiasm and drive to train with him. Most students took a few months of courses and were satisfied with the results— _not Sarah_. She’d told him she needed to learn to the best of her ability—boy had she meant it.

“See you next week, Brad,” Sarah says, waiving at him as she carries her giant gym bag. She’s always been one for hauling around a multitude of nice smelling body washes and lotions.

“Sarah, wait,” he calls, suddenly nervous as she stops, an enquiring look on her face. “I…I thought we could grab a bite to eat?”

She raises her brows and looks at her watch. “You know I’d love to Brad, but it’s 8 and I need to spend some time with the boys,” she keeps her tone apologetic. “Besides, Karen is probably going nuts by now, she needs a break.”

“Right,” Brad says softly, a resolute expression on his friendly face. It’s now or never. “How about Saturday?”

Her mouth falls open, eyes wide—she hadn’t expected _that_. _Is he asking her out on a date_? The thought makes her excited and terrified at the same time. She hasn’t dated since…her eyes become cloudy as a pair of mismatched eyes come to the forefront of her mind. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine.

“Sarah?” Brad asks, his voice full of concern. “Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, forget I said anything.”

Trying to keep her breathing under control, she shakes her head. “Saturday’s great,” she replies, a sudden surge of anger taking over her senses. She’ll be damned if she allows _him_ to dictate her life choices. “It’ll have to be after 9, after I put the boys to bed.” 

He raises a brow in surprise. “Isn’t 9 a bit too late for bedtime? I remember being put to bed by 8, and that’s when I was 10!”

She laughs, eyes sparkling with humor, it isn’t the first time she’s had to answer this question. “I’m more of the ‘sleep when you’re sleepy’ type as opposed to ‘lights out by 8.’ Not that they don’t collapse by 8:30, max. Which reminds me, I better go, or they’ll be asleep by the time I get back home.” Saying that she rushes out of the studio—she turns back when she’s almost out the door. “Call me.”

Brad waves as she gets into her car and drives away.

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“Alright, spit it out,” Sarah states, her voice taking on a stern tone. “What’s going on?” She eyes her sons suspiciously as they look back and forth, from her to each other. Both of them haven’t touched the massive breakfast that’s laid out in front of them—something she’s _never_ seen before. The two are capable of finishing food meant for 10 people, all the while asking if there’s anything else they can eat.

Alex speaks first. “We did something stupid last night…”

With those words, Sarah goes white. “What happened?” she demands, her eyes darting from one guilty looking 14-year-old to the next. She lets out a sigh in relief when she notices that they look unharmed. “One of you better start speaking, _now_.”

“We…um…” Michael mumbles—he knows his mother is going to ban him from playing in the game next week. “We explored the castle last night and Jareth brought us back here.” She looks freaked out enough that Michael can’t bring himself to bring up Jors.

“Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that could have been?” Sarah’s voice is deathly quiet as she struggles to keep her anger in check. Of all the stupid things to do!

Alex grimaces as he hears his mother’s tone—eerily quiet means she’s mad as hell. “Jareth told us.”

Taking in a few deep breaths, Sarah calms herself. She’s not the type of parent who yells and screams frantically, but she’s certainly not the type to let irresponsible behavior go unpunished either. “You’re both grounded for a month.” She looks at Michael, “that means no games.”

“A month? But mom—!” an outraged Michael begins before being cut off by his mother’s stern gaze. “Never mind.”

“And you…” Sarah turns to Alex. “No dates. You’re both under house arrest, and I am your personal jailor.”

It’s Alex’s turn to look outraged. “Luciana is going to dump me if I don’t go out for a whole month, mom, be reasonable.”

The Goblin King’s rich laughter interrupts Sarah’s scathing reply as he materializes into the room and sits down at the breakfast table. A woman materializes along with him, but she stands a considerable distance away.

“I take it they told you of last night’s occurrence?” Jareth asks, his sharp eyes focused on the enraged mortal woman who sits across from him.

“You should have woken me up, Jareth,” Sarah answers coldly—she jumps a little when the woman refills her glass of orange juice. She’d forgotten about the horde of domestic staff at his castle—she’s thankful he’s only brought one attendant this time.

“I thought it best to allow you to catch up on much needed rest, _precious thing_ ,” comes the Goblin King’s matter-of-fact reply. “In any case,” he says, looking at the two boys who sit beside him, “I take it you’ve received adequate punishment. This _Luciana_ , is she your paramour?” he asks Alex.

Sarah chokes while Michael bursts into fits of laughter.

Alex, however, eyes his father with affected disinterest. “We’re dating, sort of. I don’t believe in labels and nobody uses the term paramour in this century.”

The Goblin King raises a brow while Sarah grins. So…Jareth wasn’t used to post-hipsters and their jargon. _Hilarious_.

Jareth turns to Michael, who looks at him with a wide smile on his face. “No similar _unlabeled person_ in your life?”

Michael shakes his head ‘no.’ “Nope. I got 99 problems but a—”

“Complete that sentence and it’s three months, Michael,” Sarah cuts in, her eyes blazing.

Rolling his eyes, Michael concedes. “It’s one of your old school Jay-Z songs, mom,” he grumbles. “You should ground yourself for playing it around the house. I’m a child, my mind’s a sponge.”

Sarah can’t help but smile at his sarcastic tone. “And what did I say would happen to Jay-Z if he were to repeat these lyrics in real life?”

Alex speaks up this time, a grin on his face. “Beyoncé would set him straight with her baseball bat?”

“There you go,” Sarah says, taking a sip of her coffee.

Jareth assesses the exchange curiously—he’s never seen such a relationship between a mother and her children before. He’d been raised in a large, empty household by a slew of household staff while his parents were at the Goblin Court.

For the first time since his father materialized for breakfast, Michael notices a woman standing at the edge of the room. He raises his brows. “Who’s that?”

“Her name’s inconsequential,” Jareth replies, not bothering to look at the woman. “She’s here to serve you breakfast.”

Alex frowns at that. “We’re capable of serving ourselves. It’s weird sitting here and eating while she just stands there.”

Raising a brow, Jareth looks at the woman and gestures her to come forward. He returns to eating his breakfast. “You may explain your duties,” he states, ignoring Sarah as she glares at him.

The woman smiles and pours orange juice for both the boys—she looks at Michael. “I’m here to serve you, Your Grace.”

The boys exchange mutually startled looks at the title.

“What the hell does that mean?” Michael can’t help but blurt out.

The woman grins, her face now taking on a feline quality. “I’m here for _anything_ you may need, Your Grace,” her tone implies something obscene, and her eyes are darkly seductive.

Michael’s jaw drops wide open as he takes in her suggestive tone. “Wha-”

Sarah’s loud cough interrupts whatever Michael was going to say. “Jareth,” she says, her voice clipped. “We can serve ourselves.” A whole _different_ set of worries plague her thoughts.

Laughing softly, Jareth nods at the woman, who curtsies low before disappearing into thin air. “ _Precious_ _one_ , you’re still quite easy to scandalize.”

Sarah’s face turns grim at his joke. “I hope you’re smart enough to realize that antagonizing me will not be to your benefit, _Your Grace_.” She says his title with such contempt that he flinches.

“Of course,” Jareth responds with a mock bow. “Unfortunately, I believe Michael and Alex have kept an important aspect of last night’s events from you.” His voice is deathly calm, his eyes cold and calculating as he studies her growing discomfort.

Sarah stands up, an involuntary shudder runs down her spine. “Michael, Alex, what’s going on?”—yet her voice remains steady. She walks towards her sons, standing between them, as if shielding them from Jareth’s very presence.

“Um…” Michael begins, unsure of what to say. “We ran into a creep called Jors.”

Blood drains from Sarah’s face as she turns to Jareth. “Esiel’s friend Jors?” She trembles when Jareth nods.

“They were seconds away from being killed.” Jareth’s harsh with his words on purpose—he smiles as the mortal woman nearly falls to her knees. He needs her to take matters seriously. “Fortunately, I’d placed a tracking spell on them and was able to intervene.”

With every ounce of strength she can gather, Sarah stops trembling and slows her breath—she will _not_ panic in front of her sons. “Thank you,” she says softly, her eyes lipid green pools of gratitude.

Laughing a harsh laugh, Jareth stands. “Do not thank me for saving my own sons’ lives, Sarah. You will not agree to the… _sequence of events_ …to follow.” He walks up to her and extends a hand—“it is prudent to have this conversation in private.”

Michael’s temper flares instantly—he’s never seen his mother so shaken. “Like hell!” He stands in front of Sarah, eyes blazing. “We’re not leaving her alone with you.”

Jareth merely raises a bemused brow while Sarah places a hand on the angry boy’s shoulder. “Finish your breakfast, Michael.”

Nodding at Jareth curtly, Sarah takes his hand. She closes her eyes as she feels the heady rush of being transported through magic.

\--

_(Sarah’s room, their apartments at Jareth’s castle)…_

“So what are these ominous events to follow?” she asks bluntly—refusing to play his word games.

He can’t help but be impressed that she’s regained composure so soon. “Jors is only one of many, there will be more attempts on their lives.”

 _Oh God_. “Can’t you stop them?”

A soft, almost gentle laugh. “I will, _precious thing_. However, an example needs to be set.”

She takes in a sharp breath as she finally understands what he means when he says ‘sequence of events to follow.’ “No,” she almost shouts the word. “You can’t. They’re children!”

“Please sit down,” he states, using his magic to move her to the bed at the far end of the room. “I will not have them carry out the sentence as they probably do not know how, but they _will_ be present at the trial.”

Her eyes wild, Sarah opens her mouth to speak—when she realizes she can’t. He’s taken away her autonomy with his magic.

“Sleep, my love.” That’s all he says before lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\--

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I got a few disgruntled PMs about ‘omg, are you saying it isn’t Jareth’s fault?’ Lol, no way. Not in the least. People should be held accountable for their actions and the ‘I didn’t mean it’ or ‘I was manipulated’ excuse NEVER stands.
> 
> I wanted to know my readers’ opinions because Laby-fandom is a place where horrific rape and physical abuse seems to be excused as long as ‘he marries her and makes her his queen and eventually comes around to NOT being a fulltime rapist / abuser, and gives her ‘nice’ (read, fucking ugly, some people have awful taste) dresses.’
> 
> Also—‘Sarah seems weak in the interlude’ (paraphrasing a PM)
> 
> Sarah’s in therapy, admitting, for the first time, what went on—also voicing her fear that her kids will end up like their father (basically her worst nightmare)—I figured it makes sense that she’s emotional. She’s not a dysfunctional, emotional boo-hooer who is a useless parent—she’s allowing herself to show weakness while in a safe place (I e, therapist’s office).
> 
> This particular ‘interlude’ happened earlier—and hope it shows that she hasn’t spent all her post-J life crying.
> 
> And lastly—parents, how do you get your kids not to repeat song lyrics? I remember a few years ago my 9-year-old cousin singing along to Macklemore’s Thrift Shop. He was like ‘walk up to the club like, what up, I got a big cock!’ I almost died laughing—it was so wrong. But SO hilarious. He didn’t even know what the word meant—he thought it meant a big chicken.


	13. Resurgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.

 

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior)…_

She stares at him—jaw wide open, heart so heavy in her chest that it hurts. “What…” she forces her breathing to even out, “…what do you mean you lied?”

“Calm down, _precious thing_ ,” he murmurs, his gloved hands massaging her shoulders as he pulls her to him. “I only meant I’d wish you’d stay longer,” he lies quite easily, his lips grazing her forehead as she trembles in his arms. It’s the fear in her eyes that stops him from giving her a scathing reply—he realizes that he doesn’t want her to fear him. Well…not to _this_ extent.

She pulls back with a surprising amount of strength—her jade eyes ablaze with determination. “I don’t want to stay,” she says, her voice much stronger.

The lines around his mouth are tightly drawn—he hadn’t expected this reaction. She’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum—a certain fearlessness in her defiant posture that only children possessed. Children with no sense of their own mortality.

“I want to leave, _now_ ,” she states loudly when he doesn’t respond.

The Goblin King’s lips twist into a sharp smile. He wraps the mortal in a tight embrace—tight enough to be painful. “You are quite audacious when angered, _precious_ —you _will_ stay the week.” Holding her shoulders, he shakes her roughly, before looking into her eyes. “Or however long I wish it, my love.”

Pulse racing, she keeps herself from cowering under his icy gaze, one full of equal parts rage and desperation. She decides to appeal to his sense of mercy—she wonders if he has any. “If you love me at all…if _anything_ you’ve told me is true, you’ll let me go,” her voice breaks and tears cloud her vision. “I can’t stay here.”

A harsh sigh. “My precious little creature,” he murmurs—his hands let go of her shoulders and she scrambles away from him—his unnerving eyes study her movements with mild interest. “Surely you realize that I cannot let you go for your own safety?”

She looks up at him, her heart hammering in her ribcage—eyes wide with fear. “Stop lying to me.” Her breaths are coming out too quickly as blinding panic sets in.

_He can’t let me go—what does that mean? I have to live here forever?_

Black dots swarm before her eyes as her breath hitches. She feels her legs collapse from under her, and she falls…

He holds her in his arms before she hits the floor—his characteristically impassive face morphs into a mask of fury and concern. The silly mortal hasn’t had any solid food for three days—she’d thrown up whatever meager amount she’d had for lunch. “Foolish girl,” he croons, a gloved hand brushing away an unruly tendril of dark hair.

He transports them to his bed chambers and placing her on his bed—holding a finger to her lips as she comes to. “You will rest,” he commands, before signaling for one of his trusted medical attendants.

She opens her mouth to argue, but decides against it—she doesn’t even possess the strength to sit up. She’d _hardly_ be able to have a full-fledged argument, let alone _win_ it.

“Your Grace,” a woman with hair the shade of midnight blue appears into the room and bows deeply in the presence of her King, as she awaits his instructions—her turquoise eyes gleam as she notices the mortal child who stares at her with an expression of abject fright.

“Nemet,” Jareth says with a curt nod. “Sarah is mentally exhausted at the moment—she is in need of your assistance. Keep in mind, she’s mortal…a _young_ one at that.” He turns towards Sarah, only to frown as he takes in her appearance—her eyes are ridiculously wide, he can hear her weak, mortal heart drum frantically within her chest. She seems _terrified_. “Precious, you must calm down.”

“You said…you said,” Sarah stammers, her eyes fixed on the blue haired woman, Nemet. “You said you wouldn’t make me do _that_ again.”

That her words catch the Goblin King with surprise is an understatement. _That’s what she’s afraid of? Hadn’t he already told her he wouldn’t?_

His expression softening a fraction, Jareth envelopes the near hysterical mortal within his arms, rocking her back and forth. “My darling girl,” he soothes, “Nemet will not lay a hand on you against your will. You are not well, and require her help.”

Jareth’s voice is low and musical, his breathing calm—his hands gentle. His emotions, however, run havoc within his chest—Raeyn’s words sift through his mind as he tries consoling the panic-stricken girl.

_“Come now, my love…we both know that isn’t how you break your toys. You make sure to shatter them so that no one can ever piece them back together again.”_

_“_ She _, on the other hand, will judge you for the rest of her short, mortal life.”_

Jareth’s embrace tightens around Sarah until he hears her whimper in pain—he loosens his grip immediately. Lowering his head, he whispers into her ear, “I shall never ask you to do anything similar, Sarah—I can swear a blood oath if you wish it.”

Sarah doesn’t respond—she doesn’t believe a single word he says…not any longer.

A cold sense of dread engulfs the Goblin King’s chest—he feels a sharp stab of pain in his heart. There is no doubt, in his mind, that the mortal is broken…that her heart has shattered into innumerable pieces.

And _then_ he feels an emotion that’s utterly foreign to him— _guilt_.

“Jareth…” Sarah starts nervously, choosing her words wisely—wondering which ones would be effective. In the last few days, she’s overcome her naivety. She knows he isn’t in love with her—that he’d probably _never_ been in love with her. It’s as if the veil of _adolescent delusion_ has been lifted from her sense of perception. Every time he calls her ‘my love’ or ‘beloved’ or some other ridiculous nickname, she recognizes the mocking edge to his tone—how _stupid_ she’d been not to notice it before. “Jareth,” she says, a little louder.

“Yes?” He frowns when he takes in her gaze—the look of adoration has vanished—replaced by suspicion and barely concealed hostility. The observation disturbs him enough to unleash a sliver of regret into the mélange of emotions already brewing within.

“I would be… _very_ … _grateful_ …” she stresses the last two words, “…if you let me leave. We can forget the whole thing ever happened. Please…”

A piercingly icy stare. “I’m afraid I cannot indulge you on that particular wish, precious.” He holds her gaze, almost daring her to ask the next, perhaps _inevitable_ question.

 “Why not?” Sarah asks—she tries sitting up, only to feel a rush of vertigo so strong that her eyes roll to the back of her head.

“ _Sarah_ ,” his tone is cold, authoritarian as he pushes her shoulders back until she lies down on the bed—her dark crown nestled comfortably against the pillows. “You will rest without making any further demands—Nemet will see to your meals.” He turns towards his attendant. “Nemet—seek me out should you encounter any problems.” That’s all he says before transporting himself out of his chambers.

\--

_(Goblin Council meeting)…_

“What you’re doing is not within the law, Your Grace.”

The Goblin King looks at his opponent with a grim expression on his face—he’s in no mood for council theatrics today. “I can assure you, it is, Esiel. You may either believe me or face the consequences through deliberation.”

Esiel, however, is not easily deterred—with every passing moment, the Goblin King seems to be increasing his hold on power. “You forget your _place_ , Goblin King.”

The council hall becomes very, very quiet. The members look to their king, wondering how he’ll retaliate.

Jareth merely raises a laconic brow in question. “Continue, Esiel. Do educate me on my _place_ within this Kingdom.”

“We remember how you rose to power—by slaughtering the Goblin Queen and her remaining extended family. Every… _single_ …one. Including her young niece, the heir apparent—and her great grandfather who was headed for eternal sleep in a matter of months.”

A jagged smile. “Why, Esiel, you say these words as if to shock me. I am well aware of how I rose to power. The Kingdom was at war within and I… _generously_ …chose to restore peace and prosperity.”

Esiel snarls—his emotions getting the best of him. “You achieved _peace_ and _prosperity_ ,” he spits out these words, “…by threatening to bind the _youngest_ member of each noble household with iron.”

“And I was quite successful,” Jareth says with a haughty smirk, standing up—commanding attention. He’s had enough of Esiel’s outrage. “The Goblin Kingdom is far more prosperous under my rule than it has ever been—yet Lord Vyrenis, and now Lord Esiel feel the need to rile discontent. Have I been too generous in allowing the Goblin Council to hold these meetings?”

Half the Council looks slightly disturbed, while the other half looks outraged.

“Your threats are meaningless, Goblin King,” Esiel says with a dry laugh. “I have enough support within the council—we shall not remain silent any longer.”

Sitting back down on his throne, his movements gracefully fluid, Jareth laughs—his voice low, lilting, and dripping with disdain. “ _Meaningless_ , Esiel?” he asks rhetorically. “Perhaps I should demonstrate how meaningless my threats can be. I shall start by visiting each and every allotted district that falls within my borders. Perhaps the nobles and _esteemed_ council members need to be reminded of the trials I held earlier.”

Jareth’s words are an extremely effective threat. None of the Goblin Council members look disturbed or outraged—instead, they look downright horrified. A trickle of unease seeps into Jareth’s mind. Raeyn’s taunting words come back to haunt him…

_“Until we meet again, Your Grace. That is, of course, if you’re still the Goblin King. I don’t suppose the Goblin Council will take too kindly to your…weakness.”_

If any one of these council members, even those who support him, were to find out about his feelings for the mortal…Jareth clenches his fists…unable to finish the thought. Of course, it’s not just _his_ safety at stake—it’s _hers_ as well—perhaps even more so.

Suddenly, something becomes very clear to the Goblin King—as if he’s experienced a life altering epiphany. He knows that he will never, _ever_ , put Sarah Williams through trauma again. He’d slaughter the entire Goblin Council, hell, his own Goblin Court, if the situation called for it.

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Michael stands tall—his fists clenched, feet apart, indicating that he’s ready for action. “Where the hell is she?” He demands of his father. “What did you do to her?”

“She can’t…I’m afraid her mortal mind can’t handle the situation,” Jareth replies, raising a cool brow at his son’s hostility. Alex looks at him with an icy cold expression, one devoid of emotion, while Michael looks as if he wants to flay him alive. He stops himself from letting out a joyous laugh—the boys, in essence, are two halves of himself.

Alex places a hand on his brother’s left shoulder, quieting him. “You’re panicking,” he observes, taking note of the expression in his father’s eyes. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

The Goblin King smiles a twisted smile. “Perhaps. In any case, your mother will not be able to stomach Jors’ trials. I know this from experience—it’s better that she rest for the time being.”

“What did you _do_ to her?” Michael asks again, taking a step forward, his teeth bared. “If you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll fucking make sure you regret it.”

Jareth doesn’t know quite how to respond to such a threat—his temper flares, yet he finds Michael’s anger oddly amusing. “Calm yourself, Michael,” he says, “Your mother is safe.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever hurt her… _again_ ,” Alex tells his brother, stepping in when he realizes that Michael is looking for a fight. His icy eyes, however, remain fixed on his father. “I don’t think… _dumping_ mom in her room…will work to your advantage, Jareth.”

A slow laugh. “And I suppose you have a better proposition, Alexander?”

Alex shrugs. “I’m only a kid—but _even I_ know that forcefully restraining someone won’t get you their cooperation. Michael knows more about this stuff than me. He’s vice-captain of the lacrosse team, only because mom asked the coach not to make him captain.”

Michael nods in agreement. “If you want her to agree to… _whatever_ you want to do with Jors, you have to include her in the trails,” he says with a shrug—“that’s what works in lacrosse. You can only function as a team.”

A bemused smile softens Jareth’s harsh features. “You realize _you_ will be the ones sentencing Jors?”

The boys exchange a look among themselves. “Does that mean we have to carry out the sentence?” Michael asks, a frown on his face.

Jareth raises his brows, _impressed_. Ideally they _would_ be carrying out Jors’ sentence. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword…” Michael declares with a shrug.

Frowning, Jareth assesses his sons—surprised by Michael’s statement. “And _where_ would you have learnt such a valuable principle?”

Rolling his eyes at his brother, Alex replies. “From a show on TV. HBO, actually. But never mind that—we’re not going to kill Jors for you if that’s what you want.”

Michael gapes at the word ‘kill.’ “Are you nuts? I thought you were putting him on trial. You want us to _kill_ him?”

Jareth only smiles—a show of jagged teeth. “Yes, ideally, you would sentence him to death and carry it out,” he replies truthfully. “However, I wish to make him suffer first—and I wish for the Goblin Council to cower in my presence.”

Michael’s jaw remains open throughout Jareth’s speech. “What—the FUCK—kind of medieval justice system is this?”

Sighing, Alex decides to step into the conversation. “The exact justice system you see on Game of Thrones,” he tells Michael before turning to his father. “I don’t understand why you’re complicating things. Why don’t we sentence him however you see fit, and then _you_ carry out the sentence when we’re not here?” Alex asks—his tone matter-of-fact.

An amused brow. “Word would already be out that neither of you are experienced with magic—it would incite further attacks.”

Alex replies with another cool shrug. “So what? Deal with that when it happens—I have a feeling we’re going to get attacked by people who don’t like you anyway—whether they think we’re experienced with magic or not. In fact, if I were you, I’d get _mom_ to sentence Jors.”

A spark of admiration blazes within Jareth’s pale eyes as he marvels at Alex’s reasoning skills —while Michael remains shell shocked. Looking at his father, the unruly haired prince asks, “So technically, you could decapitate Jors and display his head on a pike? Don’t you have to prove his crime first?”

 “Yes I could. As for evidence—you were there. He said he’d kill you both, that’s all the evidence required.”

“But what if Jors demands a trail by combat?” Michael insists, eyes shining with curiosity.

Alex groans—Michael’s Game of Thrones references are getting annoying. Jareth, however, smiles sharply.

“He wouldn’t—as he’d have to fight _me_. I would reorder time, to the best of my ability, in making sure he suffers in perpetuity. ” Jareth turns towards his quieter son, a brow raised in question. “You have no queries, Alex?”

Just as Alex is about to ask a few questions of his own, they’re interrupted by Sarah’s calm, incredibly controlled voice.

“This isn’t going to work, Jareth.” She walks towards her sons, her strides deliberately slow, as if she’s keeping herself from running towards them. Her jade eyes, fixed on Jareth, blaze with immense anger—her breathing picks up pace with each step she takes. “You can’t overpower me every time I disagree with you.”

Michael clenches his fists at ‘overpowered.’ “What did you—” he begins, before being cut off by his brother’s nudge.

Jareth stares at the woman before him— _amazed_. Her eyes are wild, hair crackling with the Labyrinth’s energy. He can’t contain the shock he feels, his pale eyes widen as he takes in the sheer magical power flowing from her being. _She’s strong enough to overcome his spell_?! He hadn’t sensed this degree of power within her before—perhaps the proximity to the Labyrinth caused it to amplify…

“I’m taking them back,” Sarah says, her voice as calm as ever. “Try stopping me, Jareth, I _dare_ you.” She faces the boys, both of whom gape at her. “Michael, Alex—get your things. _Now_.”

Shaking off his surprise, Jareth clears his throat. “Stop,” he tells the boys before looking at Sarah. “I need them at the trail, precious thing—they do not need to be present for the sentencing.”

“I thought you said their presence was required—that you didn’t want to look weak,” Sarah says with a frown—a biting cold shiver runs down her spine as the magic grows within her.

Eyes widening a fraction with concern, Jareth walks up to the infuriated mortal woman. “Sarah, precious thing,” his voice is tinged with uncharacteristic apprehension. “You’re not used to handling magic—you must let it flow through instead of allowing it to aggregate inside you.”

Sarah’s eyes blaze brilliantly as the Labyrinth’s magic keeps collecting within her for a few moments…before she calms down. Her eyes return to their original shade of icy jade and her hair falls onto her back. “Maybe I’m more used to the Labyrinth’s magic than you think, Jareth,” she tells the Goblin King before turning towards her sons. “I want you both to pack your things—we’ll leave immediately after the trial.”

Giving each other a look of relief, the boys rush to their room—they’re both old enough to realize that their mother wants some privacy with Jareth. Taking into account her controlled voice and mannerisms, they know that her temper is hanging by a thread.

“I would be very interested in learning how you managed to control the Labyrinth’s magic, precious. It would have taken you some time and practice—how is it that you were able to remain undetected?” Jareth only speaks once he knows the boys are out of earshot—his voice sharp enough to cut through glass. Sarah seems to have much more power than he’d thought possible—far more power than he’s comfortable with. He’s aware that this changes their dynamics…and not to his advantage.

It’s Sarah’s turn to raise an amused brow. “ _Not_ your business, is it, Jareth?”

Jareth forces himself to keep his growing fury in check. “Very well. I do have a request of you—one I hope you’ll agree to.”

“What’s that?”

A slow smile. “Alexander proposed you should be present at the trial—that _you_ should be the one to sentence Jors.” Jareth pauses, savoring her confusion. “Unless, of course, you’d rather _they_ sentence him to death. Do I have your…cooperation, _precious thing_?”

Glaring at him with fire in her eyes, Sarah nods her head. “I’ll do it—but we have to leave as soon as we can, Jareth. You’ve messed up our Sunday routine enough, I need the evening free.”

“What comprises your Sunday routine?” Jareth asks, curiosity getting the best of him. He’s not familiar with human customs—not modern humans at least.

“We eat a massive brunch at Moishe’s. Robert comes over—he and the boys play soccer or basketball or whatever else catches their interest. Or he takes them to one of the museums, if there’s a new exhibit. We make an early dinner at his place, where Toby joins us and then, the three boys head to my dad’s.” She deliberately makes the entire experience sound foreign to Jareth—stressing their differences.

Jareth feels something sharp pierce his chest. “So that is where you spend the night?” he blurts before he can control himself.

Stretching her lips into a thin smile, Sarah responds with, “Again, _not_ your business, is it, Jareth?”

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—my apologies for the delay. I’ve been in a state of comatose for the last ten days—eating and drinking and getting my hair done. Woot. I didn’t even open my laptop and I just can’t type on a tablet. In any case, I’ve started updating my tumblr a LOT. With my daily life stuff – I’m a Canadian living in the tropics…and it looks like I’ll be here in the foreseeable future. So if interested my tumblr handle is batesybates.
> 
> Hope I’ve shown some of Sarah’s strength—mental and physical. Even if she is mentally exhausted in the first half, she’s slowly gaining strength—she’s realized that Jareth has been fucking with her and she’s not happy with it. First-half-Jareth…he’s coming to terms with his feelings a little too late. The pompous philosopher in me would say ‘he’s the master of his own tragedy.’
> 
> Latter half—Alex has a really good brain—so does Michael—together, they’re quire a force. J sees it. Sarah has become stronger—and J realizes this also—he’s not entirely happy about it.
> 
> Sarah in my stories (most of them) is totally different from me—she’s this mature, grown up, who’s very controlled. Me? My birthday is coming up soon and I’ve told my H he better roll out the red carpet. I have no qualms saying ‘I want the whole world and a tiara!!!!!’ On my 28th bday, he did give me a tiara (not my main present…another thing with my bday…I demand lots of presents…lmao, just realized this makes me sound like Harry Potter’s awful cousin Dudley) and I wore it all day…in public…and we were out all day. I was like ‘stare at me people, I give a fuck. It’s my birthday and I’m the Queen of the world!!!! Woo!!!!’ (latter part said Leo style on Titanic). So you can sort of see that writing Sarah does not come naturally to me—I truly have to place myself on someone else’s shoes, so to speak.
> 
> Happy end of 2017 everyone! The year of RAFA! He so deserves to be number 1. Surprisingly, it’s been a good year…minus the world politics stuff. And the situation of the planet. And that we’re all going to hell in a handbasket. Not that I believe in a heaven or a hell, but if there is a hell, let’s hope Lucifer is more of Milton’s Paradise Lost sort of Lucifer rather than the Old Testament devil. I could see myself drinking copious amounts of alcohol and discussing philosophy with Milton’s Lucifer.
> 
> Some recommendations for your year-end break (I’ll probably put this list on the ANs of my other stories…if I update them in the next month…probably more)…If you have any recommendations for me, put it up on a review or PM or email. Keep in mind, I love dark/dysfunctional relationships, but I abhor spineless and/or plain idiotic heroines.
> 
> The Meyerowitz Stories on Netflix – hilarious movie. Totally Noah Baumbach. Adam Sandler can act (like he shows us once in a while with Punch Drunk Love and Spanglish)—still, it’s always surprising when he doesn’t play a total idiot. Tag line from imdb-- An estranged family gathers together in New York for an event celebrating the artistic work of their father. If you enjoy a decent family dysfunction movie—this is it.
> 
> Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Professor Yuval Noah Harari—it’s a giant massive book on humans, humanity, culture, cultural changes, psychology—personal and social—EVERYTHING. Human evolution and cultural change—how we are today/ how we were. I can’t describe this book other than say that you MUST read it. Tag line from wiki-- account of human history within a framework provided by the natural sciences, particularly evolutionary biology: he sees biology as setting the limits of possibility for human activity, and sees culture as shaping what happens within those bounds. The academic discipline of History is the account of cultural change.
> 
> Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Holy shit, it’s an amazing book. Tag line from wiki-- Americanah tells the story of a young Nigerian woman, Ifemelu, who emigrates to the United States to attend university. The novel traces Ifemelu's life in both countries, threaded by her love story with high school classmate Obinze. I’d kept meaning to read this book back when it came out—finally managed it and WOW.
> 
> Elon Musk—watch his Ted Talks on the future. Insanely gripping—to me it’s a narration of human ambition. We can reach for the stars, people!
> 
> Salma Hayek’s article on Harvey Weinstein in The New York Times—gut wrenching.
> 
> Tiffany Reisz’s The Original Sinners book series—if you’ve ever wanted to read non-sexist BDSM—this is it. Such witty dialogue.


	14. Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex. Extra warning: interlude = disturbing medical scene.
> 
> AN: lmao you guys—I’ve got Fire and Fury by Wolff in my kindle and it’s killing me. Hilarious. And scary. But hilarious. Recommend.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior, Goblin Council chambers)…_

_Stop trembling—stop trembling—stop_ fucking _trembling!_

That’s her internal mantra, but she can’t seem to obey herself. A violent mix of emotions overwhelm her mind—confusion, anger, guilt—the telltale nausea caused by feeling violated. She sits behind him, flanked by two of his soldiers, as he takes part in debating with the Council. _Why would he even want her here?_ —she wonders, she can’t understand any of the topics that are being discussed.

Zoning out of the conversation taking place, Sarah’s mind wanders off to the previous night’s events…

_(The night before)…_

_She stares out of the window, eyeing the ever-changing Labyrinth with jaded fascination, as she doesn’t know what else to do. Focusing on her current situation only increases her panic. For the life of her, she can’t figure out why he won’t let her leave._

_“Sarah?” The deep baritone of his voice interrupts her thoughts._

_She turns to look at him. “I can’t stay here, Jareth.” Her heartrate increases with every step he takes towards her. “I’m supposed to start college in less than a week—my family must be so worried.” Her voice catches painfully at her throat—she’d told them she’d be back in seven days. It’s been ten._

_His dual gaze is fixed on hers, not an ounce of sympathy in its cold depths. In truth, he’s more than a little anxious—Nemet had told him that the mortal, while physically sound, was not sound of mind—and the human mind was a mystery to his kind._

_“Come here, precious thing,” Jareth lilts, a hint of command to his tone—he decides he will provide her with comfort the only way he knows how._

_She falters—the ravenous look in his eyes gives her a start. “I…can’t,” she says slowly, unable to stop shivering in spite of the roaring fire that warms up the room._

_He stalks towards her, a harsh smile on his lips—whatever may be going on in that complicated mind of hers, he knows she reacts to his physical touch. “Let me ease your mind, Sarah,” he rumbles before bending down and kissing her on the lips, his arms curling around her waist, pulling her close towards him._

_For a few moments, she just stands there—frozen. She raises her hands to push him away…but, somehow, she doesn’t. She feels as if her mind’s gone blurry, like she’d felt when she’d had way too much wine one night—her thoughts jumble together. On a primal human level, she_ does _seek comfort, a cure for the horrific sense of violation she feels—the irony of the fact that she seems to be seeking comfort from him, the cause of all her pain, isn’t lost on her._

_Just as she’s about to push him away again, her thoughts drift away. And then she stops thinking altogether—she only feels. She feels him as he molds their bodies together, pulling her flush against him, deepening the kiss._

_He leads her to the bed, his bed, his fingers still entangled in her hair—one arm wrapped around her waist. He can sense a stream of Labyrinthine magic surrounding her, and he knows the wise course of action would be to stop and investigate._

_But he can’t._

_He lays her on the bed—studying her reactions through hooded eyes. She stares back at him, eyes glazed over with lust and perhaps something else. Her breathing deepens, growing harder and more laborious as he kisses every inch of skin. He draws out her pleasure with gloriously slow caresses until she cries out with desire._

_Afterwards, she sits in the bathtub, steaming water up to her chin, and scrubs every inch of skin on her body. She scrubs herself until her skin is red—she scrubs herself until he intervenes and pulls her out._

\--

_(Council chambers)…_

The feeling of nausea returns, her stomach roils—she desperately hopes she’s not going to throw up in front of everyone. She hadn’t wanted to leave his chambers, but he’d healed her in places where she’d scrubbed herself raw—his attendants had dressed her in a jewel encrusted gown—and he’d asked her to follow him to the Council chambers.

 _Calm down_ —she yells at herself internally— _it’s the only way to plan an escape_. The harsh sound of a whip slicing through the air interrupts her thoughts, and she raises her brows at the sight before her. She feels as if she’s attending a play, as if Jareth’s an actor on a stage.

A man kneels, curled up as if he’s in agony—iron chains around his ankles and wrists. Jareth leans back on his throne, a slow smile twisting his lips, a whip in his hand. He rises in one fluid motion, circling the man who kneels before him, awaiting judgment.

“My Lord, I’ve been told that you’ve been… _rather productively_ …gathering a team of soldiers and mercenaries, behind my back. Surely, you wouldn’t be so foolish?” His tone indicates that he knows exactly what the man had been doing. The question is only part of a rhetorical cat and mouse routine.

Sarah stares at the kneeling man, her lips part open as Jareth strikes the kneeling man with his whip—a movement so fast that she can only register the result rather than the action itself. The man’s shirt tears open and a scarlet patch of blood spreads across the fabric—she can’t help but let out a gasp at that.

Jareth looks up with narrowed eyes—almost cringing as he registers the look of horror on her face, her eyes as wide as saucers. He’d forgotten that mortals of her particular background, had developed a different justice system in the last century or so. Unfortunately, it isn’t just him who recognizes her fear, it’s _everyone else_ in the Goblin Council as well. He grits his teeth, knowing he has to act—fast and well.

“ _Sarah darling_ , keep yourself calm,” the King croons, a tilt to his head. He looks at the Council members, a cruel smile stretching across his face. “Mortal _pets_ …” he pauses to laugh, his voice cold and hollow. “My apologies, Lords and Ladies—mortals are so very easy to shock.” Saying that, he continues with the trail. He’ll deal with her later… _still_ , he recollects his conversation with Nemet from the previous night.

 _“She does not belong here, Your Grace,” Nemet had said, after examining Sarah. “More accurately, she cannot_ survive _if she stays here. Not as she is.”_

\--

_(Dinner at the Goblin King’s formal dining hall)…_

“Lady Sarah, is it?” A bright eyed woman asks the Goblin King’s new pet.

Sarah doesn’t answer, distracted as she fiddles with her cutlery—she doesn’t remotely know which fork to use for what—not that she wants to eat, in any case. The vicious trail had ended any remnants of hunger in her system.

“Lady Sarah?” The woman repeats.

“Yes,” Sarah answers, a frown forming on her face. She wonders if this woman had been there when he’d left her to be…she shivers…refusing to complete the thought. _Don’t break down at the dinner table_ —she scolds herself _._ “You are?” she asks—the woman looks harmless enough. Petite, wide eyed, curious.

“Aleyhra,” the woman replies with a grin. “Perhaps I can be of some help, Lady Sarah—seek me out when you have the time.”

\--

_(Interlude)…_

Sarah grips the cold edge of the metallic bed, looking at her mother for reassurance—Linda had flown in immediately once she’d heard that her daughter needed her help.

Linda smiles at her daughter reassuringly, swallowing the anger she feels—she’d never been the maternal type, but an instinctive, primal rage blazes within her chest. She’d kill the bastard who’d hurt her child, if she could get her hands on him. Unfortunately, Sarah had remained tightlipped when it came to his name.

“This is going to be a routine procedure, Sarah,” the doctor says, voice kind. “I know you’re nervous, but don’t worry—you’ll be out of here soon enough.”

Forcing down a harsh laugh, Sarah nods weakly—she’s reminded of her yearly visits to the pediatrician, who’d more or less, said the same thing. Except, she’d always added, “I’m sure your dad will take you for ice-cream once we’re done.”

Her stomach heaves at the mental image of ice-cream. She bites down a surge of nausea—an unfortunate side effect of her ‘condition,’ she thinks grimly. The previous doctor had said the same thing—‘routine process’—as it was quite early on in her pregnancy, she’d been given a combination of abortive pharmaceutical pills.

 _They hadn’t worked_ —the doctor had then suggested that she wait a while and opt for a surgical procedure instead.

“Lie back,” the doctor instructs. “Count to ten.”

Sarah reaches four before promptly blanking out, as the anesthesia starts taking effect.

She awakens hours later…only to find, that the _supposedly routine procedure_ hadn’t worked. After two more unsuccessful tries, she changes her mind…

She doesn’t know _what_ makes her change her mind, but a few weeks later, she decides that she’ll have the child. She puts her life plans aside and forms new ones…and then she never looks back.

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

_“You shall enter the Council chambers at my call,” Jareth had instructed before leaving them at the entrance—he’d glanced towards his sons, face severe. “Do not react to anything you see,” he’d warned icily before going in._

Sarah nods at Michael and Alex as she hears Jareth call for her—she knows she has a role to play. However she may _hate_ it, she’ll have to play the role convincingly if she wants to keep her sons safe.

Jareth smirks when he sees his Council members gape at his sons—“Michael, Alexander, be seated,” he says, indicating that they sit on the two chairs provided for them on the dais, alongside his throne. He knows that they haven’t provided a chair for Sarah on purpose—it’s a slight he isn’t willing to overlook.

“Sa-rah,” Jareth says her name, drawing it out as if he were reciting a poem.

“Your Grace,” Sarah responds with a sweeping curtsey, eyes fixed on him—she wonders if they can hear her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

If the boys feel anger at the sight of their mother bowing down to Jareth, they don’t show it—save for Michael’s fists, which remain clenched by his side.

“Rise,” Jareth says with a chuckle. “I’m afraid the Council hasn’t provided you with a seat, my love,” he tells her, his tone mockingly reproachful. “Perhaps you’ll do me the honor of taking mine.”

Sarah has to keep her jaw from dropping open—and so does the rest of the Council. Slow murmuring fills the chambers.

_Had the Goblin King—one who’d risen to power ruthlessly, and one who continued to hold onto power with an iron fist—asked a mortal to sit on his throne?!_

“Silence.” Jareth’s voice is deceptively low, but the promise of violence in his eyes causes pin drop silence to descend upon the room. He looks at Sarah pointedly—as if telling her to get her act together.

Swallowing down her shock, Sarah does as he asks. She slinks down gracefully on Jareth’s throne, a wide, dazzling smile on her face. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He grins—spiky sharp teeth on full display. “ _Anything_ for you, my love.” He turns towards his Council members, who remain seated in a line, on a different dais. “My Lords and Ladies,” he says with much flourish, “I don’t wish to keep Lady Sarah from the mortal world as she tells me she must leave as soon as she can. I’ve asked you here today for the trial and sentencing of Jors—who was… _incredibly obtuse_ …enough to attempt assassinating my heirs within my own castle.”

The Goblin Council members murmur amongst themselves—Esiel stands, his eyes fixed on the mortal who sits on the throne. She’d been a frightened child the last time he’d seen her in this room—he knows that even as a grown adult, she’s not used to their world. It’s an _act_ —an act he has to unravel if he wants to keep Jors from dying an agonizingly prolonged death.

Jareth laughs as Esiel stands. “Ah, Lord Esiel— _you_ stand to defend Jors. Why am I not surprised?”

“I shall try harder to surprise you, Your Grace,” Esiel responds—faint laughter echoes against the chamber walls. Biting back a grin at Jareth’s expression, he turns towards the Goblin princes, who seem as out of place as their mother. “While the High Council may have been lenient in allowing you to legitimize your bastard sons, the Goblin Council remains conflicted on the matter. My Lords and Ladies,” he says, turning towards the Council, “I suggest we take that into account when sentencing Jors.”

Alex is able to keep his face intact, but Michael grins widely when the _so called Lord Esiel_ says ‘bastard sons’…and unfortunately, the rest of the Goblin Council takes note.

“Do you find something humorous, _Your Grace_?” Esiel asks, eyes gleaming. He says the title mockingly—as if Michael doesn’t deserve it.

Raising his brows, Michael looks at his mother, who nods for him to continue. “You said bastard sons, no one says that anymore.”

Alex keeps himself from rolling his eyes and intervenes. “What my brother means to say, is that the word _bastard_ is obsolete.”

The Council members look at each other, amused.

Esiel frowns. “How else do you determine inheritance, _Your Grace_?” he asks the more somber prince.

“You should ask mom that question,” Alex replies with a shrug. “She’s a lawyer.”

Sarah smiles at Alex’s dismissive tone. “Individuals create wills—documents whereby they decide who inherits what. You may bequeath your wealth to your children, or anyone else. But that’s not the point of this trial, Lord Esiel. I believe the High Council’s decision on the matter is final—legal heirs cannot be discredited once legitimized.”

“The ultimate decision should be ours,” declares a formidable woman who remains seated—her gray eyes flit towards the two princes. She frowns when she realizes one of them is still grinning like an idiot. “This isn’t a laughing matter, my young prince. Explain yourself.”

Unfortunately, Michael grins even wider at ‘my young prince’— _what a lame ass title_. “Because it doesn’t make a difference,” he replies assertively, without looking at either parent for permission this time. “The um…Goblin King,” he stumbles with the title, “I mean, he’ll be our dad, or father, whatever, whether you issue a piece of paper legalizing the whole thing, or not. And going by the look on his face, he doesn’t give a damn what you thi—aah.” Poor Michael abruptly shuts up as his more sensible brother kicks him.

Jareth moves so that he stands on the dais with his sons—a feral grin forming on his face—one that resembles Michael’s quite well. “Any other inquiries, my Lords and Ladies?”

Esiel speaks, still standing—“I hear that they are inexperienced with magic, Your Grace. Should anything happen to you, I fear they are not… _strong_ …enough to lead this Kingdom.”

Jareth raises a laconic brow—he knows Esiel’s words are a direct challenge to his authority, but he does not react. Instead, he looks at Michael with a hint of amusement in his dual gaze—the boy seems to have a flair for showmanship. “Care to respond, Michael?”

Michael’s grin widens—he’s never been one to shy away from the spotlight. “So what?” the young prince asks arrogantly. “We hold his magic—we’ll start practicing now—and then we’ll catch up in no time. You’re grasping at straws.”

This causes the entire chamber to break out in low whispers that become louder every second.

“That’s enough,” Jareth commands after a few moments—he signals his goblin soldiers to bring in Jors. An idea forms in his mind, one that will keep the rest of his Council in line. “Lord Esiel has given caused enough distraction for today; therefore, I propose we extend the trail to a later date. Does the Council agree?”

All Council members nod.

A victorious smirk. “Until then, Jors will remain within my castle for further questioning. I have no doubt this pathetic assassination attempt has more than a few backers…” he lets the sentence drift off.

That’s all it takes for the Council members to immediately break out in argument. They know that whether they’re involved or not, if Jors indicates any of them, _they too_ shall face an agonizing death. The threat is enough to override Esiel’s concerns.

“We agree with your deliberation, Your Grace,” the woman who’d spoken earlier says, a flash of hostility flickering in her eyes. “You may sentence Jors any time you wish.”

“My, my,” Jareth lilts, eyes dancing in amusement as half the witnesses look like they’re about to panic. “A change of heart,” he continues, glancing at Sarah. “What do you say, my love? Do you wish to sentence _Lord Jors_ now…or after he is better acquainted with my dungeons?”

The Council stills—it isn’t lost on them that the Goblin King has asked the mortal to sentence Jors, giving her immense power.

“There’s no time like the present, Your Grace. Since I am unfamiliar with the Council’s ways, I defer sentencing to you,” Sarah replies with a jaded shrug belying the numerous emotions warring within her chest. She breathes a little faster as he walks up to her and holds out his arm—she takes it, raising a brow in question.

 “I need a little favor, my love,” Jareth tells her, leading her to Jors, who looks at both of them venomously…but Jareth turns away and addresses the Council members instead. “Lord Jors is guilty of plotting to assassinate my heirs—and as such, I sentence him to death. Does the Council disagree?” He pauses—eyes glinting darkly when he receives no objections. “Good.”

Sarah allows herself to be led by Jareth—her limbs move gracefully enough, but she’s afraid she’s going to start trembling any second. _What favor could Jareth possibly want? Is he pissed that she didn’t sentence Jors like she’d said she would—and left the task to him? He’s not going to make her kill Jors…is he?_ She doesn’t know what to make of Jareth, as she knows him today, and whether he’d be vicious enough to ask her to kill.

“Don’t fret so, _Sarah darling_ ,” Jareth says with a playful chuckle, as if he can read her mind and he finds her thoughts amusing. “I’m not going to ask you to _violate_ your delicate mortal sensibilities. I only wish that you place Lord Jors in irons so that he may await his sentencing later on today.”

Sighing in relief, Sarah does as he asks—forcing herself not to wince when Jors immediately falls to his knees at the slightest touch of iron.

\--

_(Robert’s apartment, later that night)…_

“Let’s not talk about him anymore—it’s bad enough that I had to spend most of the weekend there,” Sarah tells Robert as they drink their second glass of wine. She’d told him that her ex had returned out of the blue, and wanted to be a part of his sons’ lives…she’d also told him that her ex lived in a farm in Vermont. Robert hadn’t weighed in, but he was definitely curious.

“Come on, Sarah—it is extremely weird that this guy shows up out of _nowhere_ —especially after treating you like that when you were only _eighteen_.”

She sighs—she hadn’t told Robert any details—only that she’d had a fling and he’d left without a word. She’s exhausted after the days’ events, both, mentally and physically. Tonight, she wants to forget everything...

Without another word, Sarah wraps her arms around Robert’s neck and kisses him deeply, her fingers already working the buttons of his shirt.

\--

_(The Goblin King’s chambers)…_

He knows he shouldn’t watch her—that she would _hate_ him all the more for it…but he can’t tear his eyes away. She’d been magnificent this morning, sitting on his throne unflinchingly—staring down hostile Council members with her brilliant eyes…

_…and now…_

His blood runs hot as he gazes at the image of the woman in his crystal, taking no notice of the mortal beneath her. She’s fierce, _voracious_ as she seeks her pleasure—her head thrown back—lips parted. He watches until she cries out her release…until she lies down in the arms of another man…that’s when he finally stops. He crushes the crystal into fine dust, feeling a sense of possessiveness that threatens to drive him insane.

And with a cold smile on his face, the Goblin King vows to himself that he’ll have her back. Consequences be damned.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—whoa. Michael can give attitude. Jareth’s on a mission.
> 
> On another note, did you guys know that there are people who write ‘self-inserted’ (with actual self inserts and not turning fictional characters into self inserts) fanfiction with celebrities? Like there are people who write stories of themselves and David Bowie…um…doing it? Am I in the minority if I find that super creepy? Psycho stalker level of creepy?
> 
> Now, before anyone says I’m not opening up my mind (blah, blah, blah)—imagine this:
> 
> You’re on a date—you meet the guy—he’s all nice—and you ask him “So, Jeff, what do you do for fun?” and he replies with “I write stories of myself having sex with Gwyneth Paltrow. I obsess over intimate details of her life so I may add them to my stories. I read Goop all day and buy all the ridiculously priced merchandise she recommends.”
> 
> Wouldn’t you say you have to go to the bathroom and run for your life?


	15. Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.
> 
> AN: Couple of things I wanted to make clear before you start reading this chapter—how would J have behaved if he had girls? The same. This isn’t a sexist world, women can rule, fight, take the throne etc. J can’t afford to idiotic, dum dum children of any gender.
> 
> Robert—S’s SO who shares her dad’s name (lol)—isn’t a dullard by any means. Assume he has an MBA from an ivy league (non-legacy student, that is—not a dummy with rich parents a la George W and the Great American Orange Cheetos Jesus). Is in PE (that means private equity, someone legit asked me if PE meant physical education, and I was lmao—no, S’s bf isn’t a gym teacher). Is good in bed. Gets along well with Michael and Alex. Good at sports. I’m never going to pair Sarah with a loser, illiterate bf.

 

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior, the Goblin King’s castle)…_

She wanders the hallways and corridors, seemingly lost—but at the moment, she doesn’t care. She feels as if she’s losing her mind, and she desperately needs the distraction.

“Lady Sarah?”

She looks around, startled by the interruption—her heart jumps into her throat as she notices a familiar face, the auburn haired courtier…or is he a council member…? “Lord…Lord Esiel,” she stammers, thankful that she remembers his name.  

“This is the east wing of the castle. Are you lost?” Esiel asks, his brows furrowed—the mortal child looks terrified. “Calm down, Lady Sarah. I can help you.”

Letting out a strangled laugh, Sarah breaks down at his kindness. “No one can help me, Lord Esiel.”

Esiel’s curiosity piques—the Goblin King’s so called mortal pet seems near hysterical. Why would Jareth need a mortal child to keep himself entertained when his tastes had never involved someone similar? Esiel tucks the question away and focuses on comforting the girl instead. “I’ll try my best, Lady Sarah. But first, you must tell me what makes you so afraid.”

Blood drains from Sarah’s face as she considers the repercussions of angering Jareth—but she’s frantic enough to risk it. She peers into Esiel’s kind eyes. “I need to go home…and Jareth won’t let me.”

“Home?” Esiel asks, brows raised. The Goblin King had never been the type to keep women, or men for that matter, against their will. Why would he start now? “In the mortal realm?”

Sarah nods, desperation clearly etched on her youthful face. “Can you help me?”

Smiling grimly, Esiel wonders how he can help her— _if_ he can help her. “A portal can be arranged,” he says carefully, calculating how he could use this situation to his advantage, “…but it would be very difficult to get one into the castle without his knowledge. And even if you manage to go home, he could easily enter the mortal realm and claim you.”

Letting out an anguished cry, Sarah sinks down to the floor and hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s hopeless. I’m going to be stuck here forever.”

“Mortal child,” Esiel murmurs, moved by her despair. “I may be able to weave a temporary protection spell against the Goblin King. You could use it until you find a better solution.”

Sarah looks up, her eyes cloudy with tears. “But how would I leave this place?”

“I saw you speak to Lady Aleyhra last night—she would have the right contacts for procuring a portal.”

A hopeful glance. “She’d help me?”

Esiel laughs at the mortal’s innocence. “She’ll certainly help herself, mortal child. Whether that involves helping you, depends on how well _you_ help her, in turn.”

\--

_(Later that evening, Jareth’s chambers)…_

Nemet stares at the shivering mortal girl, expression stern. “Lord Esiel isn’t to be trusted, the King will not be pleased to know that you were escorted by him.”

Eyes widening in horror, Sarah clings to the healing attendant with both hands, forgoing all dignity. “Please don’t tell him,” she pleads. “My mind was hazy so I got lost trying to find my way back from the dining chambers. Esiel brought me back without a word. Please don’t tell Jareth anything.”

Sighing, Nemet studies the girl, feeling a pang of sympathy at her predicament. “I do not lie to my King, mortal.”

“Please,” Sarah whispers, her face pales considerably. “I don’t know what he’ll do if he gets mad. If he makes me…” she shudders, “…I can’t take it. Please, Nemet.”

Against her better judgement, Nemet gives Sarah a grudging nod. “Very well,” she says, turquoise eyes narrowing as she notices the girl heave. “Are you ill again?”

Sarah grimaces. “Yeah. I feel queasy every few hours, but I don’t actually throw up.” She raises her brows as she sees Nemet frown. “It’s probably because I’m anxious all the time.”

“Possibly,” Nemet replies with a noncommittal nod—keeping her conclusions to herself. “Shall I help you bathe and prepare for bed?”

A crimson flush makes its way up Sarah’s cheeks, she isn’t used to people helping her bathe. “No thanks,” she murmurs, heading towards the bathroom. “I can manage.”

Nemet follows the mortal, paying no attention to her words. “The King has asked me to make sure you remain uninjured, Lady Sarah. You seem unsteady on your feet, so I insist on accompanying you.”

“Fine,” Sarah says, a sharpness to her voice as anger courses through her veins. _She’s not a fucking Victorian invalid, dammit!_

Sarah supposes she should be grateful when Nemet stands facing the door, giving her some privacy as she strips down and settles into the warm tub. “Why are you so loyal to the King anyway?” she blurts out curiously. From what she’s seen, Nemet follows Jareth’s instructions with fevered reverence, and she wonders what inspires such loyalty from such a dreaded King. It has to be something other than fear.

“May I turn around?” Nemet asks—this is a conversation she’d like to have face to face.

“Um…” Sarah gathers bubbles around herself, concealing her body. “Okay.”

Looking at the mortal with half a smile on her face, Nemet explains, “If you’ve noticed, Lady Sarah, I appear… _different_ …than most beings here.”

Sarah raises her brows—considering pretty much everyone else is different from her, she doesn’t quite know how to react. However, she supposes, Nemet is even _more_ different than the rest. Her eyes are the deepest shade of turquoise, and her hair a shade of midnight blue, even her skin is tinged pale blue. Her veins, a darker shade of indigo, are clearly visible. “You mean the whole blue thing?”

“Yes, Lady Sarah, the _whole blue thing_ ,” Nemet responds with a laugh. “I’m not going to confuse you with the details of various different beings who live in the Underground, but I am not part of the gentry, nor was I born into the ruling class. I’m considered lesser Fae—many feel I am not fit to be a healer, let alone the King’s healing attendant.”

“So you’re devoted to him because he doesn’t discriminate against you?” Sarah asks, trying to equate Nemet’s situation with something similar in her world.

The healer smiles at her, her expression less severe as she considers mortal’s naivety. “Discrimination is a _soft_ term, Lady Sarah. When His Highness led the war to unify our kingdom, he came to my district with his soldiers and freed my family from indentured servitude to the feudal lady who ruled the land. He allowed us to live with dignity and banned the practice of indentured servitude, and for that, he shall have my loyalty as long as I live.”

 _Oh_. Sarah doesn’t say anything, unsure what to make of Nemet’s story. Perhaps there are more sides to the Goblin King than what she’s seen and experienced. _Still_ —her young mortal mind can’t grasp how so someone so cruel can also be just.

\--

_(That night, Jareth’s chambers)…_

Heart thudding in her chest, Sarah forces a smile on her face, desperately hoping her expression looks genuine. Esiel had advised her to put Jareth at ease. “You’re back late tonight,” she says as he enters his chambers.

“And you seem to be in better sprits than last night,” the Goblin King replies raising a perfectly arched brow. “I am pleased.”

She nods, recalling Esiel’s words from earlier that day—

_“Study his schedule tomorrow, Lady Sarah. Come to me when he will not miss you.”_

Jareth smiles a genuine smile, one that warms his otherwise icy eyes. He relaxes, knowing that she’s less depressed than the night before. “How did you occupy your time?”

The question makes Sarah’s blood freeze with sudden fear. She shrugs, trying her best to appear nonchalant. “I walked around the castle—oh and I tried some of the dresses you sent me.” In reality, she’d dumped most of her new wardrobe into the closet and hadn’t bothered even looking at the clothes. “Thank you.”

A slow chuckle. “ _Anything_ for you, precious,” he says, voice rough as he’s consumed by the familiar rush of desire he experiences in her presence. “But if you truly wish to prove your gratitude…” his eyes glitter with lust as he sits on his bed, and pulls her between his legs—gloved hands on her shoulders.

Sarah bites her lower lip, her eyes wide. “Um…” he doesn’t want her to do… _that_ …does he? The last time she’d tried _that_ , he’d grown bored in less than a minute. He’d asked her to stop a few minutes in, and she’d felt horribly embarrassed afterwards.

A slow smile. “Don’t look so frightened, precious thing,” he croons, voice low and lilting. “Let me teach you how you can… _please_ …me. After all, you _do_ wish to please me, don’t you?”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak, lest she whimper out a protest. She feels trapped by his unnerving gaze—a deer caught in the headlights. “Yes.”

He traces her lower lip with a gloved index finger. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking her hair. His tone is comforting, but his eyes are cold, and his smile feral. “Get on your knees and open your mouth.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later, Sarah’s apartment)…_

“What is it, Michael?” Sarah asks, chopping up some lettuce and tomatoes as she prepares salad for dinner. She’s noticed that her usually talkative son has been uncharacteristically quiet—he sits on a barstool by the breakfast counter.

Michael shifts uncomfortably. “Do you know how _old_ Jareth is?”

Sarah sighs, she opens up the cabinet and takes out balsamic vinegar and olive oil. “I have no idea—but he’s much older than he looks.”

“He told us he’s more than _five hundred_ years old,” Michael says, eyes intent on his mother.

Looking up, Sarah eyes her son curiously. “I can understand why that makes you uncomfortable, Michael, but Jareth’s age is the least problematic thing about him.” She frowns as she notices Michael grow even more uncomfortable.

“He says we’re like him—we’re going to live for a very long time.”

Wiping her hands on a paper towel, Sarah goes up to her son and ruffles his unruly mane. “We’ll deal with new discoveries one step at a time, baby. Don’t look so upset.”

Michael, who usually gets really annoyed when his mother calls him ‘baby,’ barely registers the term—he’s far more concerned about something else. Something that’s plaguing his mind ever since he’d had this discussion with Jareth. “ _You’re_ not like us,” he says, his pale eyes wide as he looks at his mother. “You’ll grow old, like really, really _old_.”

Sarah stares at her son, surprised. She hadn’t expected _that_. _Fuck you, Jareth_ —she curses in her head as she tries controlling her temper. She has no doubt Jareth brought up the subject on purpose.

“Michael,” Sarah mock-chides in a soothing voice, ruffling his hair some more. “I’m not growing _really, really_ old any time soon, okay?”

Michael pulls back. “But we’ll have to live with Jareth permanently and you won’t be there.” He chokes out the last word, his eyes suddenly watery. He looks away and wipes his eyes furiously like any other 14-year-old boy embarrassed to be caught crying.

“Michael, _baby_ ,” Sarah soothes, pulling him into a big hug. “Jareth’s riled you up on purpose—don’t let him affect you like this.”

Pulling back once more, Michael glares at his mother. “I know that, mom, I’m not stupid. But Jareth isn’t wrong, is he?”

“He isn’t wrong, but you don’t have to think about that right now. I’m not _ancient_ , Michael—I’m not knocking on heaven’s door.” She laughs as Michael glowers at her.

“What’s up?” Alex asks as he saunters into the kitchen and pulls out freshly blended cucumber juice from the fridge. “Why does Michael look like he’s starring in grandma’s show?”

 Michael huffs. “How can you be so calm when mom’s going to grow old and die?”

“Because I know Jareth’s trying to get to mom through us,” Alex replies with a shrug, grinning at his mom. “Mom’s old, but not _that_ old. She’s not dying right this instant.”

“Boys,” Sarah cuts in, unable to stop herself from laughing aloud. “I know you probably think anything older than 30 is Gandalf-levels-of-old, but I’m still _young_ , okay?” She turns back to Michael. “Baby, don’t let him control you.”

Alex laughs when he hears the term ‘baby.’ “Yeah, quit being a baby, _Mikey_.”

“Don’t call me Mikey,” Michael warns his brother before turning back to Sarah—he’s a little calmer than before. “Jareth says mortals can change…”

“ _Stop_ , Michael,” Sarah says in a gentle but firm tone. “We’ll resolve this issue later. Don’t you have homework to do?”

“There’s an International History paper on Cambodia due tomorrow,” Alex replies, grinning as Michael scowls at him. “I’m done with mine.”

“Fuck! I mean uh…fudge,” Michael corrects himself. “I totally forgot about that.”

Sarah folds her arms and gives Michael a very ‘mom-like’ glare. “You need to be better organized with your schoolwork Michael, especially now that Jareth’s given you books to read.”

Michael throws up his hands and groans. “My life is shit,” he declares dramatically causing his brother to roll his eyes in response. “It’s bad enough I have homework for school, Jareth’s given us huge mofo books to read by the end of the week.”

“Oh no, _Mikey_ has to _read_ _books_ —it’s the end of the world,” Alex deadpans, winking at his mother. “I’ll help, like always.”

Sarah smiles at her sons—she’s brought them up to help each other out instead of competing against one another. “Cut the swearing Michael,” she chides before turning to Alex. “Thank you, Alex. I’m calling Robert up. Why don’t you take your homework there and he’ll make you some dinner.” She has every intention of giving Jareth a piece of her mind—the apartment’s too small to have the boys present.

The boys give each other a look.

“We can head to the coffee shop across the street if you want to yell at Jareth,” Alex offers. “We’ll be close by if you need us.”

Sarah shakes her head. “Rob’s house is protected from Jareth—call me once you reach. Take an Uber, not the subway.”

\--

_(Sarah’s apartment, an hour later)…_

The Goblin King raises an amused brow as he takes in the incensed mortal woman. “You called for me, and here I am. Ever your slave.”

“Fuck. You. Jareth,” Sarah exclaims, barely keeping her rage under control. “I had to watch my 14-year-old cry, on _my_ account, because of what you told him.”

“I only told him the truth, precious thing,” Jareth drawls, lips curving up as he sees her eyes blaze with anger. “I suppose Michael is the more emotional of the two—he seems to be attached to you. How charming.”

“He’s a child, Jareth. Of course he’s attached to me, I’m his mother. What did you expect?”

Jareth shrugs. “I don’t know. Considering that I hosted a state dinner the night of my mother’s death, I’m not the right one to ask.”

Sarah stares at him, incredulous—she’d known Jareth to be viciously cold, but some of the things he says still unnerve her. “What do you want, Jareth?”

A cruel smile. “ _Whatever_ do you mean, precious thing?”

“Why would you tell Michael about changing mortals?” Sarah asks, eyes intent on his. “You’re manipulating him to get to me. So, why don’t you tell me what you want?”

Inclining his head in mock concession, Jareth chuckles darkly. “Since you asked so nicely, precious,” he teases, “…I suppose I should answer you.” He walks up to her, circling her slowly, his dual gaze pinning her to the spot. “What do you believe I want… _from you_?”

“Fuck your games, Jareth,” Sarah replies with a growl of anger, fists clenched. “You tell me what you want or I’m backing out of the deal. I’m not letting you mess with their heads like this.”

“You think to hide from me again?” Jareth’s words are said mockingly but there’s a threatening edge to them.

Sarah, however, gives zero fucks. “I’ll take my chances. _What_ do you fucking want?”

Jareth throws his head back and laughs at her display of anger—her fierce expression only makes him want her more. “I want you to change, precious thing. I want you as my _immortal_ Queen. Oh, and I _definitely_ want your magic for myself. As _irresistible_ as I find you, I’m more drawn towards power than lust.”

Sarah’s jaw drops open. “You can’t be serious…” that’s all she can manage, overwhelmed by his seemingly sincere admissions.

Jareth grins like a shark. “I _am_ , my darling. Perfectly serious.”

Sudden panic dims Sarah’s vision—she inhales huge gulps of air, trying to keep calm. Jareth evaluates her with a cool gaze. If he feels any concern, he doesn’t show it.

“That will _never_ happen, Jareth,” Sarah says viciously, eyes burning with an emotion akin to hatred. “I’d rather be dead than become your Queen.”

Rolling his eyes, Jareth tsks scornfully. “How _dramatic_ , my love. How do you suppose Michael would respond to that?”

Sarah sneers at him. “I’m not the kind of mother who makes her children fight for her, Jareth— but if I feel that they’re better off knowing the kind of things you’re capable of, I will act accordingly. Keep pushing me and I _will_ tell them _exactly_ what happened between us. I can promise you that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on _that_ , precious,” Jareth says reproachfully. “It’s been more than a decade.”

“Get out,” Sarah hisses, knowing full well that he’s deliberately trying to make her lose her temper. Lose _control_. She’s _not_ going to give him the satisfaction.

Jareth raises a sardonic brow, mouth curved up in amusement, as if daring her to make him. “I can see that I’ve made you angry, my darling. What shall you do now? _Hmm_?” He inches closer until they’re standing nose to nose. “Will you call on your lover and use him as… _distraction_? You think a mortal man is _adequately skilled_ to keep you distracted from _me_?”

Sarah’s eyes widen, her mouth falls open in shock. She feels an icy stab of fear as Jareth’s grin turns feral. “Have you been watching me?”

A quiet laugh, and an intense stare. “I suppose I _have_. Imagine my surprise when I found that I couldn’t see _Robert_ without your… _presence_.”

Counting to ten slowly, Sarah swallows her rage—she tries her best to keep a level gaze. “I’ve made sure he’s protected from you,” she says, smiling coldly when Jareth’s dual eyes flicker with anger. She inches closer to him, standing on her toes so that they’re the same height. “ _Why_ do you watch me, Jareth?”

Inhaling deeply as she draws nearer, Jareth closes his eyes—“It’s a compulsion I can’t resist.” That’s as honest an answer as he can give her.

She laughs harshly, her eyes flash jade ice. “I don’t know what kind of perverse satisfaction you derive from watching me fuck Robert, but that’s your problem, not mine.”

And with that statement, Sarah Williams wins the power play. Jareth, for once, is at a loss for words—the otherwise impassive Goblin King looks away after a few seconds of pin drop silence.

“I suppose I deserve that,” Jareth concedes. “I shall refrain from discussing your… _mortality_ with Michael or Alexander, as you wish. Until next time, precious.” With those words, he gives her a small bow and disappears from her living room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

\--

_(Sarah’s apartment, a few seconds later)…_

Sarah’s resolve cracks—she falls to her knees after a few seconds of deafening silence. She’s never experienced rage like this before—not even when she’d escaped him fifteen years earlier. It’s absolutely _exhausting_.

When she finally regains her composure after a few minutes, she reaches for her phone. “Hi. Checking up on whether the Cambodia essay disaster has been averted,” she says, smiling when she receives a positive answer. “The club still open? I thought you could take them for a few rounds of tennis, tire them out.” She takes out a trench coat and a pair of spiky heels. “I’ll be there in an hour and a half, after they’re asleep.”

At this point, she doesn’t care if Jareth watches her or let’s his entire fucking court watch her. She’s not going to allow him any power over her life—she’s going to prove that she’s not the easily intimidated child she’d been a decade and a half earlier.

If the Goblin King wants a show, he’s going to get a damn good one.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

Jareth grows hard at the sight before him, his breathing turns ragged—her eyes are closed, legs wrapped tightly around the mortal man as he pushes her against the wall. He watches the man quiet her moans by placing his fingers in her mouth…he watches her as she goes over the edge…as she grins at the man wickedly, pushing him away…backing him against the wall as she sinks to her knees and takes him in her mouth. She’s _certainly_ not the inexperienced young girl she’d once been.

A heady mixture of anger, lust and jealousy flows through Jareth’s veins—his blood runs hot, his pulse wild. Vanishing the crystal when he cannot watch the scene unfold any longer, Jareth slams his fist against a stone wall with equal parts frustration and fury. He has no doubt that tonight’s _performance_ had been for his benefit, and the thought makes him all the more furious.

The images replay in his mind…

… _Sarah taking off her clothes and wearing only a trench coat with those shoes…Sarah knocking on mortal man’s door, his face a mask of delighted surprise when he sees her…Sarah leading him to his room…Sarah on her knees…Sarah pleasuring the mortal man with her mouth…the wicked, wicked glow in her eyes, as if she knows that she’s being watched_ …

…Jareth growls low as his control snaps. His magic flows freely, all the torches in the castle flicker and the walls tremble.

 _Sarah. Sarah. Sarah_. _Well played, precious._

A smile twists his lips as he forms another strategy. A more _effective_ one. There’s only so long she can delay the inevitable decision of choosing to leave their sons in his world…or choosing to join them.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…Sarah’s not a sexless prude just because she’s a single mother, she’s got a wild side. Jareth’s a tricky bastard. The way he’s going to get Sarah is through Alex and Michael.
> 
> References—coz a few ppl have said they have no idea what I’m talking about with some of my refs—Gandalf—old wizard dude from Lord of the Rings. Club = ‘health’ club, one with an indoor tennis court. Cambodia is a country in SE Asia—in case there are any geographically illiterate Bessie Mays reading this. Knocking on Heaven’s Door—Bob Dylan song. GnR has done a cover which isn’t too bad.
> 
> AN—apologies for the delay! Just when I had some free time, my H roped me into working with him—technically, for him—he’s a slave driver. Ugh. Boys and girls, anytime you read a fic with J and S working harmoniously together in ruling an entire fucking kingdom, don’t believe it—it’s either some tween’s or some old lady’s fantasy. If you ever have to work with a long term significant other, you’ll end up insane…or murderous…Scarface, ‘say hello to my leeetle friend’ levels of murderous. [Scarface is a movie, btw—an awesome one].
> 
> Haven’t murdered H yet b/c he did a good job on my bday—booked a suite, handed over some shopping loot, also got a casually elegant watch—which I was about to exchange for a black and gold, men’s sports watch b/c I love the idea of wearing a ginormously oversized, in your face, men’s watch. He was horrified—he was all ‘you have no class. You’ll look like a hobo who stole a mafia boss’s watch.’ Sigh. Considering I want to use red/white marble on my dining area floor, he may be right. Ah well. Anyways, didn’t exchange the watch. Still going for the red/white marble combo with gold flecks. I also bought a pair of gold lace up shoes—maybe I’ll put up pics on my Tumblr. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
> 
> I know I promised a Dark Court update, but that one needs to be written well—details need to be accurate and all that. I’m off to a beachy place this Sunday—will be back in less than a week. If the rest of the week goes well, should be able to post Running on Empty.
> 
>  


	16. Performances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters. 
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.

_(Interlude, 12 years later)…_

Twelve mortal years. That’s how long she’s managed to evade him. _She_ …a mere mortal woman.

The thought makes the Goblin King deliriously furious, but he also feels a deep sense of regret. He wonders how she’s aged, more so than that, he wonders how she spends her days…with whom she spends her days. That particular thought makes him all the more furious.

And then there’s the cold stab of fear, something that’s unfamiliar to him…he can’t sense her presence, or feel the familiar pull of the Labyrinth’s magic. Mortals are weak—she could have easily succumbed to disease or a tragic accident, and he would have no knowledge of the fact.

Crushing up a perfectly cylindrical crystal with his gloved hand, Jareth gives his Royal Sentinels an icy glare. When he speaks, his voice is deathly calm, belying the anger in his eyes. “Incompetence…” The Goblin King says quietly. “The entire Kingdom is well aware of how I… _reward_ …those who fail me Kelnan. Yet here you stand, emptyhanded.”

The Head Sentinel does not flinch, his gray eyes turn steely. “We’ve tried everything, Your Grace. You must entertain the possibility that—”

Kelnan words are cut short as a burning flare of the Goblin King’s magic surrounds the room.

“Perhaps you must entertain the possibility that you haven’t tried entirely _enough_.” Jareth’s eyes flash dangerously as he clenches his fists. He’d known what Kelnan had been about to suggest, and the thought makes him rage.

_Sarah can’t be dead._

_She can’t be….can she?_

“Your Grace,” Kelnan interrupts with a respectful bow. His eyes, however, hold stoic determination. “This obsession of yours has gone long enough. There have been questions from the Council that I’ve diverted…so far.”

With Kelnan’s words, Jareth’s blazing anger dies down—he knows his Head Sentinel speaks logically. None of his court had been able to locate Sarah, and now his Royal Sentinels had failed as well…that only leaves him with one choice.

 _Her_.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers, a few hours later)…_

“The last time I was in your Kingdom, you threatened my life…Your Grace.” Comes a silvery feminine voice, snapping Jareth out of his thoughts. Raeyn stands before him, the same as she’d always looked—perhaps a tightening around her mouth. Her golden hair is arranged in intricate braids atop her head, and she wears the long flowing robes of a priestess.

Jareth gives her a jaded look. “I’ve known you for centuries, Raeyn—there’s no need of a theatrical disguise.”

“Whatever you wish,” Raeyn says with a laugh—her robes vanish and her hair hangs loose. “I must say, I am surprised it took you so long to call on me, _my love_. The mortal must have meant…something more than you realized.” A smile twists her lips when she sees him still.

Jareth doesn’t react to the affectionate address, his voice is flat when he speaks. “I need your help in finding her.”

“ _Still_?” Raeyn asks, her golden brows drawn in genuine surprise.

“I shall pay handsomely, as always,” Jareth continues, oblivious to the shock on his former lover’s face.

Raeyn sobers up when she realizes he’s serious. “I’ve tried looking for her to suit my own purposes throughout the years, _my love_. I’ve been unsuccessful. I am surprised, however, that you’d turn to _me_ for help on this _particular_ matter.”

Jareth smiles a slow, lethal smile and stares at her for a few moments, letting the silence create an uncomfortable tension. “As you well know, I’ve risen in power, Raeyn,” he says, voice dangerously low—the fact that Raeyn has been looking for Sarah scares him more than he’d care to admit. “If you harm her in any way, I shall personally take you to the eternal prisons and ensure that you remain there until you beg for death.”

Raeyn shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “This must pose quite a dilemma for you, my love. As you’re still seemingly obsessed with the mortal, she could be used to control you quite easily.”

“And _you_ seem to delight in stating the obvious,” Jareth replies, the terrifying smile still on his face.

“I wonder what you’d do to those who allowed the mortal to escape, my love…” Raeyn grins mischievously, as if she knows a secret.

Standing up in one fluid motion, Jareth reaches out a gloved hand and holds his former lover by the throat. “Stop playing games, Raeyn—I suggest you divulge any information you think I’d find interesting.”

Raeyn’s smile widens, the mischievous gleam in her eyes turns maniacal. “I have missed your touch, my love. But _you_ …you do not seem to have missed mine.”

“Give me the name, Raeyn,” Jareth demands, eyes narrowed as his voice holds dark promise. He tightens his grip, a satisfied smirk on his lips when he sees her fight to breathe. “You and I are done playing childish games.”

Wheezing out a laugh, Raeyn quirks a brow and responds with, “Are we?”

A cold smile. “You realize that I will kill you right this instant, do you not?”

“I propose a new game, my love,” Raeyn says with deep, labored breaths—she has no doubt he can and will choke the life right out of her—but the thought gives her a thrill. Raising an unwavering hand, she traces the column of his throat with her fingers. “Give me what I want—and I shall return the favor.”

Jareth raises a brow—the kind of attraction he feels towards Raeyn has changed since she’d betrayed him. It’s become corrupted…contaminated with hatred. _Still_ —the rush of lust that courses through his veins is intoxicating. He’d been so obsessed with finding his mortal that he hadn’t indulged in much else.

“What do you say, _Your Grace_?” Raeyn asks, reverting to his formal title mockingly.

Without a word, Jareth crushes his mouth to hers in a violent kiss, his lips cold and his teeth unforgiving. He has every intention of giving her exactly what she wants…brutally so.

\--

_(Interlude, 12 years later)…_

They look at the younger woman, their gaze part curiosity, part shock. She’s a good ten years younger than most of the mothers at Excelsior Academy.

_“I hear she’s only 30, with two 11-year-olds!”_

_“She must have had them really young. How did she manage to go to law school?”_

_“Forget law school—no one from that kind of background has kids that young unless it’s an accident. Does she come from a family of religious crazies that don’t believe in abortion?”_

\--laugh—

_“I don’t think so. Her mother’s that soap opera actress Linda Williams.”_

_“So that’s how she can afford this place.”_

_“Don’t be so blunt!”_

_“What? She works in contract law—only two years in. So that means about 80 thousand a year. Tuition at Excelsior is 30 thousand a child. She can’t afford this place.”_

_“Yeah, but you sound mean for saying it.”_

_“I don’t mean to be—the woman is beautiful. I wouldn’t be surprised if more husbands started attending the PTA meetings.”_

\--laugh—

_“Speaking of husbands, does she have one? Maybe she belongs to one of those cultish religions that encourages early marriage.”_

_“Nope. I believe it was an accidental pregnancy.”_

_“Is the father in the picture?”_

_“Not that I know if—the boys don’t look like her, so they must look like him.”_

_“Ah—that makes sense.  I don’t blame her, the poor girl would have been really young and going by the boys, the father must have been insanely gorgeous.”_

Sarah smiles demurely as she pretends not to have overheard the conversation, it’s not new to her. The blatant level of shock that people express at her… _situation_ …has always amused her to a certain extent. They’re not entirely wrong. She does, indeed, _not_ come from the type of family that encourages 18-year-olds to have children. Hell, her mother has a fine arts degree from Tisch and her father studied law at Princeton—they’re not barely literate, religious zealots who’d encourage teenagers to throw their lives away simply because of an accidental pregnancy.

 _Still_ …she’s angry when she hears the same conversation repeated over and over again. There are times when she feels like whirling around and telling people to mind their own business. It shouldn’t matter what ‘type’ of family she comes from or how she can afford this place. It shouldn’t matter if her parents are poor, toothless drifters from the backwaters of…wherever, or even if they are religious zealots of any kind.

_Calm down, Williams—punching someone in the face at the PTA isn’t going to set a good example for Michael and Alex._

She takes in a deep breath and puts on a smile before greeting one of the teachers. “Hello. I’m Sarah Williams—Michael and Alex’s mother.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later, Sarah’s apartments in Jareth’s castle)…_

Sarah studies her reflection with a frown on her face—she feels ridiculous. Worse, she feels weak for giving in. Her sweeping gown is uncomfortable and the jewelry too heavy, but Jareth had convinced her that she couldn’t afford to look like a pauper as the mother of his children. If she wanted to be valued at his court, she’d have to look the part.

“One more victory for Jareth,” she murmurs as she screws on a bejeweled chandelier earring.

Sarah’s frown deepens when she hears him knock on the door. “I’m almost done,” she says as she clasps a pearl necklace around her neck before heading to the door.

\--

The Goblin King stands outside the mortal woman’s door, his arms folded and his face impassive. He isn’t used to anyone making him wait…anyone except for her, he thinks with a wry smile.

“Sarah,” he begins, “There isn’t any…” his words are cut short when she makes an appearance. His breath catches in his throat.

“Sorry I took so long,” Sarah says coolly, not entirely oblivious to the effect she has on him. “I’m not used to wearing these clothes or jewelry.” Thankfully, he’d let her wear her own shoes.

An amused glance. “And yet you refused any help.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can dress myself, thanks. What did you want to talk about before tonight?” This is the third formal event he’s organized to introduce the boys—she’s getting tired of the whole ordeal and they’re bored out of their minds.

Schooling his expression back to its impassive mask, Jareth replies, “I require your participation in two separate trials, precious.”

“No,” Sarah states adamantly, her tone indicating no room for argument. “I didn’t have a choice with Jors, but I can’t do that again.”

A slow, cruel smile. “Oh, _precious_ —you don’t have a choice. Not when the matter concerns you so…shall we say… _specifically_. I have no doubt you’ll wish to defend both of the accused…and I shall _generously_ provide you with an opportunity to do exactly that.”

 “Get to the point, Jareth.” Sarah crosses her arms, fighting to keep her expression under control as blood roars in her ears. _What the hell could he mean?_

“You remember a certain Lady Aleyhra, do you not?”

She goes deathly white. _He’d found out_. “What have you done to her?”

A laconic brow. “Oh precious, the look of fear doesn’t suit the strong woman you’ve become. As for _what_ I’ve done…” he pauses, his teeth gleaming as he flashes her a smile. “… _well_ …I haven’t had her executed, yet.”

Heart thundering in her chest, Sarah fights to keep from trembling—she knows that there are worse things than death. “What have you done?” she asks again, her voice barely a whisper.

“The usual, I suppose,” he says, voice conversational, “I placed her in my dungeons, allotted her one meal a week, and trapped her within her own nightmares. You may defend her at the trail, which is to take place publically.” There is no emotion in his voice when he speaks, but his eyes sharpen as they take in her guilty expression. _Oh, precious—so easily manipulated_.

“Who else?” Sarah asks, recalling that he’d said _two_ trails. It couldn’t possibly be Esiel as he’d been attending the formal events…so that would leave…

Jareth laughs slowly as he reads the horror written across her face—he turns his head towards the entrance to the apartments. “You may enter, Nemet.”

Sarah’s lips part when she sees the healing attendant—she looks exactly the same—frosty skin with tinges of blue and piercing turquoise eyes. “Nemet,” she breathes, her voice weak.

“Lady Sarah, you have grown.” Nemet, for her part, smiles genuinely at the mortal woman.

“Nemet,” Jareth addresses the healer, without giving Sarah a chance to respond. “Tell me, as a healing attendant, arguably the best in the Kingdom, would you not have been aware of Sarah’s condition when she left in such haste?”

Unable to keep her façade any longer, Sarah strides over to Jareth and looks at him pleadingly. “You can’t blame her, Jareth.”

Jareth studies the mortal woman with a cool, indifferent gaze while addressing his healer. “Answer the question, Nemet.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Nemet replies, her deep voice emotionless. “I knew of her condition.”

Sarah can’t help but let out a gasp as she wonders what he’ll do. _Could he throw her in the dungeons? Starve her and torture her with nightmares as he’d done with Aleyhra? Even after the staunch loyalty she’d shown him?_

“You can’t hurt her, Jareth.”

“Stop the dramatic behavior Sarah,” Jareth chides, letting out an irritated sigh. “You know of the consequences Nemet. You deprived me of my heirs for fourteen years—and so you shall repay your debt by providing me with yours.”

Sarah’s mouth falls open, but Nemet only bows. “I have one daughter, Your Grace.”

Jareth nods. “That will be sufficient.”

A small, disgusted sound gurgles up Sarah’s throat as her eyes widen with revulsion. “You can’t take her daughter, Jareth,” she says before turning to Nemet. “Nemet, I’m so sorry—”

Nemet shakes her head, silencing the mortal woman before turning to her King. “Then I shall make the arrangements.”

A small smirk twists Jareth’s lips. “In that case, I shall ask you to return to your position at the castle as my healing attendant—my heirs require one I can trust. Your daughter can live with you.”

Overwhelming relief washes over Sarah as she leans against the wall to catch her balance.

Nemet, however, remains standing—her face remains impassive. “Of course, Your Grace,” she says before bowing. “Lady Sarah.” That’s all she says before turning around and walking away, leaving an amused Jareth and an infuriated Sarah behind.

Clenching her hands into fists, Sarah walks over to Jareth, her jade eyes aflame. “You did that on purpose—you made me think you were going to take her daughter!”

“Really?—and do what with her? Throw a child into the dungeons?” Jareth teases, a brow raised. He turns serious at the look of confusion on her face. “You think I’m capable of such a thing?”

“I don’t know, Jareth,” Sarah responds truthfully, fighting to keep her emotions under control. “Esiel said you had the former Queen’s niece killed.”

Jareth sighs deeply. “That I did. For what it’s worth, it was a quick and painless death,” he murmurs, his eyes soften for a flash of a second before morphing into twin blades of ice. “Our time wears thin, we must discuss the High Council—tonight’s event is designed to entertain them.”

“What about them?” Sarah asks, recalling that she’d agreed to be courted by members of the High Council.

“I suggest you spend some time with council members if you wish to keep your… _mortal friend_ …out of danger.”

Sarah nods. “I guess I can dance with them. What will you do?”

“I shall make certain that they do not believe I have any particular interest in you.”

\--

_(One hour later, Grand Ballroom)…_

“I don’t like the way he looks at her,” Michael declares grumpily, watching his mother dance with a man with frosty white hair.

Alex shares his brother’s sentiments, openly glaring at her dance partner. “I hope she steps on his foot.”

Raising a bemused brow, Jareth laughs at his sons’ possessiveness when it comes to their mother. “As do I, Alexander,” he says, signaling to Sarah that she’s performed enough for tonight.

Jareth’s eyes remain hooked to Sarah’s form as she makes her way to the dais where they sit—small wisps of her hair have escaped from her elaborately styled up do, framing her face. Her skin flushes pink with exertion—her eyes sparkle, catching the light of the thousand chandeliers that hang from the ceiling.

For a brief few moments, Jareth wonders what could have been. He sees himself, dressed in full regal attire with her by his side, the boys standing beside both of them…her face breaking into a wide smile…Jareth’s chest tightens at the image.

“Um…Jareth?” Sarah asks, peering into his eyes. Jareth had been staring into space for the last few seconds, and she could have sworn he winced, ever so slightly, at one point.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Jareth takes on an indifferent façade. He smiles coldly as he takes one of her hands and makes an elaborate display of kissing her wrist. “It seems your performance is over, my darling…and so, mine begins.”

\--

_(Five minutes later, the Grand Ballroom)…_

Alex eyes his father with cool interest as he dances with two women simultaneously—both of them look exactly alike with flame colored hair and eyes. Both of them seem to be glued to him.

“Are you seeing this?” Michael asks, his jaw drops down as he sees his father kiss one woman, before turning around and kissing the other. “Our dad is a man whore.”

Sarah chokes at the expression. “ _Michael_!”

Alex laughs at his mother’s outraged face. “In his defense, look at Jareth,” he says, indicating the Goblin King, as his interaction with his companions grows more heated by the second.

 “Regardless. Don’t use the word ‘whore’ with a negative connotation, Michael. It stigmatizes sex work and—”

“—and some of the most vulnerable people in society,” Michael finishes for her—he’s heard this lecture before. “Man _slut_ , then?” he asks, laughing aloud when his mother glares at him. “Come _on_ , mom. He’s a bigger man slut than Enrique Iglesias.”

At _that_ , both, Sarah and Alex burst out laughing—they laugh long and hard and stop only when they see Jareth stride across the hall, heading their way.

The Goblin King raises a brow in speculation. “You seem to be enjoying yourselves,” he says, addressing Sarah and the boys with detached amusement.

Alex shrugs, a sly grin on his face. “Not as much as _you_.”

“Would you like to, Alexander?” Jareth asks, his voice low… _tempting_. “My friends would be very interested in getting to know you on a more intimate level.”

“Jareth!” Sarah starts—she knows he’s only teasing, but she refuses to allow her children to be exposed to that particular side of Jareth’s world. Not yet.

Alex shakes his head, his eyes turning as cold as his father’s. “No thanks. I’m going out with someone.”

A sharp smile. “ _Oh_? I believe you are…unlabeled.”

“Yeah, but we’re exclusive,” Alex says with a shrug. “I’m not like, you know, Enrique Iglesias.”

Michael snorts with laughter, catching Jareth’s attention. He quiets down at the intensity of his father’s gaze. “Mom says we shouldn’t hook up with girls unless we really like them—that it should be equal.”

“ _Go out_ , Michael. I said ‘go out with girls’ not ‘hook up with girls,” Sarah corrects, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _Boys_.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, mom,” Michael reiterates quickly before turning to Jareth. “I get it, you’re a king and we’re your heirs—that’s why people call us _Your Grace_. That takes equality away from the start.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to be shocked—but she also feels an immense sense of pride. She knows Alex always listens and takes in the things she teaches them, but Michael has always been a bit of an unreliable wildcard.

“Told you he’s not as dumb as he acts,” Alex tells his mother. “Most of the time, anyway,” he adds when Michael utters an indignant ‘hey!’

Sarah laughs, her shoulders notably less heavy as she realizes that their value systems are intact. That they’re _nothing_ like Jareth, and that they’re too old to be changed. “I’ve danced with four council members, Jareth—I’m dead tired and I have a full day of work and a PTA meeting tomorrow. The boys have school—we need to sleep.”

Michael groans as his mother mentions the PTA. “Maybe you shouldn’t come to this one, mom,” he says, ignoring Alex as he rolls his eyes. “There’s another one next month, come to that.”

Crossing her arms, Sarah looks at her son sternly. “What did you do, Michael?”

“Who me?” Michael asks, putting on an innocent expression—his feathery hair giving him an angelic look. “Nothing.”

Alex scoffs. “She’s going to know sooner or later—just tell her already.”

Eyeing the exchange with unabashed interest, Jareth steps in. “If I may,” he says, turning to Sarah. “What is this meeting that you’re attending tomorrow?”

“It’s with teachers at their school,” Sarah explains with a frown, wondering why he’d be interested. “It happens once a month.”

“Could I…attend?” Jareth asks, his eyes lighting with amusement at her shock. “I happen to be their father and I would like to see how this…mortal institution functions.”

Both Michael and Alex look at their mother with wide eyes, not sure of her response.

Anger flares up Sarah’s chest, and she opens her mouth to tell him to go to hell…but she thinks of how she can use this to her advantage. “You can,” she says. “If you stop torturing Aleyhra.”

A slow laugh— _so you’ve learnt how to play, precious_. “You do realize that she had no motivation to help you? That you were a pawn in her game?”

Sarah’s eyes harden. “I don’t care. You can come to the PTA if you stop.”

“Aleyhra will remain in the dungeons. You bargain with me to let her out of her nightmares—correct?”

“Yes,” Sarah replies with a steady gaze. “I want you to stop starving her.”

Jareth bows. “Very well. You may retire for the night, precious. Allow me to transport you back to your world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the delay guys. Have moved from…let’s call it a giant sized living space…to a smallish apartment for a year, until new place gets constructed.  
> Went from having two full time staff, one full time cook to only one part time cleaning person…and I communicate with her via sign language. Even she almost left as my H freaked her out—he speaks the language poorly and told her (or tried telling her) that after a year, we’ll have a big place with two staff quarters so her family can move in. It came across as ‘you can come live with me in my big house, after a year’ according to a friend—which, of course, has a different meaning entirely.
> 
> The maid’s still wary of him—like is this guy a perv…or an idiot who can’t speak. Lmao. 
> 
> Parents…HOW DO YOU DO IT???? I have maybe two hours to chill and watch TV every night after cooking and tidying up a bit. I barely have time for two cups of coffee + some FB surfing in the morning. There are so many things to do every day. Bleh. (these are world's tiniest violin problems, I know) 
> 
> Will write more when I have full time help and I can go back to being a non-adult.


	17. Antecedents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior, somewhere deep within the walls of a different castle)…_

_“The mortal pet wishes to escape?” A playful laugh. “Does the girl even have the courage? She looks as if she will collapse every time he raises his voice.”_

_“Mortals experience fear far more intensely than you or I. It tends to make them…courageous.”_

_“You mean foolish?”_

_An amused glance. “Where mortals are concerned, they are one and the same.”_

The dark haired woman takes this into consideration before asking, “Why are you helping her? What do you hope to gain?”

“Have you not noticed the King’s growing obsession?” Esiel evades her question with his own, eyebrows slanted upwards.

Aleyhra flashes him a sly smile—her dark eyes glowing with curiosity. “Come now, Esiel. If Jareth killed Vyrenis, as we _know_ he did, should you not seek to have this new mortal of his, killed?”

“She is only a child.”

“She is _mortal_ —Jareth could only have one use for her, Esiel. You would never risk allowing his bloodline to continue… _would you_?”

“Never.” Esiel’s fists are clenched as he hisses out the word.

“I don’t understand your moral qualms—whether or not you interfere, she _will_ die,” Aleyhra declares with a scoff, as if she finds the notion of allowing the mortal to live completely ridiculous. “Perhaps not right this instant, but humans do have miserably short life spans.”

Esiel laughs—seemingly amused by Aleyhra’s eagerness in killing off the mortal child. “How, do you suppose the King would react if his plans were thwarted? If he were… _powerless_ to enact them?”

 _Ah—so that’s his tactical plan_. “Lord Esiel, I am impressed,” Aleyhra states, brows raised. “I have never witnessed the Goblin King… _distraught_. A chaotic scenario, I’ve been told.”

“I have,” Esiel says softly, copper eyes lost in a swirl of memories. “Chaotic isn’t an appropriate description, Lady Aleyhra. I have seen him ravage his way across the land, tearing down estate upon estate, scorching the earth before painting it crimson with blood.”

Aleyhra’s mouth goes dry—she has to try twice before finding her voice. “And you would risk that again?”

“She is only mortal, I doubt his wrath will be as intense.” A bitter smile twists Esiel’s lips. “I shall ensure that she remains alive.”

“To keep his anger at a controllable state?”

“No,” Esiel replies, the smile on his lips morphs into something else entirely—his copper eyes are aglow with an emotion akin to hatred. “Were I to kill this mortal, the King would seek another. Were I to make her disappear from his hold—from his own castle...”

“Ah.” Aleyhra laughs until her eyes sparkle. “So you wish to humiliate him.”

\--

_(Interlude, a few days later)…_

Sarah sits up as Karen enters her room with a plateful of food—it takes her far more effort than usual. Every single muscle in her body protests—she feels exhausted. Attempting to smile at her stepmother, she says, “I’m so sorry Karen. I just don’t have any appetite right now.”

Choosing not to argue, Karen nods—she places a plate of grilled chicken and mashed potatoes on the dresser, nonetheless. “In case you get hungry later,” she says, sitting on the bed. Reaching out, she places a hand over one of Sarah’s clenched fists.

“Sarah, sweetheart…we were able to defer your admission to next semester. Whatever happened, we can fix things…but we need to know what’s wrong…” _and we won’t until you tell us_ , remains unsaid.

Looking away, Sarah mumbles, “I’ll be fine, Karen, just give me a few days.”

“At least tell us where you were,” Karen says in a soothing voice.

 _Oh, how easy it would be to spill everything out—_ but she knows that she can’t. Not without sounding like a lunatic. If, by some miracle, her family were to believe her—she’d risk exposing them to Jareth.

Sarah’s eyes harden— _she’ll never let that happen_.

“I’m sorry, Karen, I can’t.”

\--

“She hasn’t left her room, she hasn’t even stepped out of bed. There are dark blue circles under her eyes that no 18-year-old should have, Robert. Something is very, very wrong.”

“I don’t know what to do—she _refuses_ to tell us what happened. Linda’s flying in first thing tomorrow morning—she’s mad that we didn’t tell her Sarah was missing.” He’d gotten more than an earful from his ex-wife, and he feels guilty.

“Linda was in London. She would have panicked, and _that_ wouldn’t have helped anyone. Don’t second guess yourself during a crisis, Robert—you did the right thing. As for Sarah…it’s as if like she’s terrified of someone.”

Robert grits his teeth in frustration. “I’m calling Dr. Stokes—she can recommend a good therapist. We need to get to the bottom of what happened to Sarah…” and then he’ll make sure that…he doesn’t exactly know _what_ he’ll do…he’s never been in a situation such as this before. He’s simultaneously terrified and sickened to even think about what his daughter could have gone through.

\--

_(The next day)…_

Sarah tries not gaping at the woman sitting across the table. A shock of radiant white hair runs through her salt and pepper mane, her eyes are so dark that they’re unreadable—her skin is a shade of pale that suggests she’s never been outside. She’s human, but she barely looks like one.

“I see you’ve noticed the hair,” Celestina Perrot says with a knowing smile, her eyes fixed upon the teenager who’d come rushing into Hazelwood and Thorn. “It’s a side effect of channeling magic—mortal bodies aren’t meant to process such _dynamic_ energy. We begin losing pigmentation, save for the eyes—they turn… _dark_.”

“Oh…” Sarah responds, embarrassed at having been caught staring. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just haven’t…” _seen anyone like you before_.

“Right,” Celestina interrupts—she’s quick to get to the point. “Going by what you’ve told me right now, I’m confused as to how we can help you, when you refuse to articulate the nature of your problem.”

“It’s for your own safety,” Sarah blurts out. In truth, she’s worried that mentioning his name will somehow make him appear out of thin air. “I need to be veiled from the Underground—can you do that?”

Celestina raises a salt and pepper brow. “The _entire_ Underground?”

Sarah nods in response. “My family as well. My house, my car. We need to be concealed at all times.”

“Very well. How will you be paying? For such a large project, we prefer systemic bank transfers—makes things easier for both parties.”

The question gives Sarah a start—she hadn’t even considered how she’d pay for the services. Rummaging through her handbag, she pulls out her credit card—a supplementary card that her father had given her. “Do you take credit cards?”

Sighing deeply, Celestina gives her a pointed look—it is clear that the kid has no idea how expensive such a service would be. “That kind of protective spell involves very strong magic, Ms. Williams—how long would you require this service?”

“Indefinitely…? I guess,” Sarah replies with a shrug.

“Right. I can place you on a retainer for six thousand dollars per person, per year, exclusive of taxes.”

 _Six thousand dollars per person_?

Sarah’s jaw drops wide open. That meant—“Thirty thousand dollars, just for one year alone!?”

Celestina doesn’t miss a beat—she’s used to clients’ reactions to their pricing structure. If they wanted top notch service, they’d have to pay for it. “Thirty thousand dollars _plus taxes_ , Ms. Williams. And that’s because you’re on retainer—a one-time price for this service is ten thousand per person.”

Sarah’s breath catches in her throat, and she swallows a painful lump. “I can’t pay you that much.”

“Then I’m afraid we can’t help you, Sarah,” Celestina replies, switching over to a first name basis. Her tone is matter-of-fact—not hostile, but not sympathetic either. “I’m sure whatever it is you’re going through doesn’t require such a powerful spell. You’re only a teenager after all, how could you possibly have had enough interaction with the Underground to be so… _fearful_?”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Sarah eyes her sons with acute interest—as with most PTA days, the boys are home early. Jareth had taken the opportunity to discuss all the reading material he’d given them. She’d meant to look into what he’d asked them to read, but between work and all the extra time she’s been spending in the Underground, she hasn’t had a moment to sit down and go through his books.

 _Stupid, Sarah—very stupid_. She eyes her watch—an old fashioned Omega with a classic leather band. They have about forty five minutes before they have to leave. The irony of the situation baffles and amuses her. The Goblin King in human attire, sitting at her clean cut, modern dining table.

For someone who isn’t used to human clothing, Jareth wears his outfit as if the clothes were specifically tailored for him, and only him. He’d chosen something simple—dark slacks, crisp white shirt, over which he wore an understated, slightly oversized trench coat—it’s a classic, elegant look. His hair is tamer, slicked back—it’s somehow modern, but also reminiscent of 1950s Hollywood. The markings around his eyes have disappeared, as if they were never there. This is the most human she’s ever seen him, and she can’t stop staring.

He notices her lingering gaze from the corners of his eyes. “Have I dressed well for the occasion, _precious thing_?”

Sarah purses her lips into a thin line, annoyed at having been caught. “Don’t call me that, Jareth. I’m not going to repeat myself indefinitely.”

A flash of wolfish teeth. “Very well—but you _are_ precious to me.”

“Go to he—” Sarah’s voice dies out as she sees Michael look up, pale blue eyes as cold as frost. She groans internally—he looks as if he’s ready to defend her should Jareth try anything.

_A deep, rumbling laugh._

“Very well, _Sa-rah_ ,” Jareth croons, returning his attention to the boys. “What is this…lighted device?” he asks Michael, eyeing a shiny, rectangular object with mild interest.

Alex grins at his brother—an internal cue. As intimidating as Jareth appears at times, he is completely clueless about modern human technology.

“It’s an iPad,” Michael replies, the grin on his face matching his brother’s—he knows Jareth has no idea what an iPad is, or how it operates. “Alex summarized some notes for me because I didn’t have the time to sit and read those huge ass books.”

The lines on Jareth’s face realign—expressionless, but indubitably cold. “You didn’t have the… _time…_ to read the books _I_ assigned?” His voice is mild, but the underlying coolness indicates a threat.

Michael shrugs, completely oblivious that he’s disobeyed the Goblin King—and that such disobedience comes with consequences. “Yeah— _lacrosse_ ,” the fourteen-year-old says matter-of-factly, as if that explains everything. “Mom says I can’t use my full potential, which means I have to get the rest of the team up to level. Half of them are morons so…hence, I don’t have the time.”

The words ‘full potential’ catch Jareth’s interest, and he raises his gaze to meet emerald ice. “Lacrosse is some sort of game—a sport?”

Sarah nods in response, a frown furrowing her brows. “Michael’s played lacrosse since he was in the fourth grade.”

A slow smile spreads across Jareth’s face, as he turns towards his son. “Then I would very much like to test your skills at sparring, Michael. At your full potential, of course.”

Michael raises his brows and looks at his mother, gauging her reaction. A telltale spark of curiosity flickers in his pale eyes. “It’s up to mom.”

Stopping herself from glaring at Jareth’s smug expression, Sarah focuses her attention on Michael instead. She knows what Jareth is doing—he’s sensed Michael’s curiosity and is using it to his advantage.

“You’re free to learn anything you might be interested in, Michael,” she says evenly—she raises her gaze to Jareth, “…as long as you’re safe.”

“Sarah—stop being so _preciously_ ridiculous,” Jareth croons, a smile in his voice. “Of course he’ll be safe—I’ll make sure he keeps his eyes and limbs intact.”

Just as Sarah is about to skewer Jareth on the spot, Alex coughs loudly, breaking up his parents’ verbal battle. “You’ll have to leave for the PTA soon, Jareth—we need to go over this stuff now.”

Jareth raises a brow at the interruption, but he relents—his gaze returns to the rectangular device in Michael’s hands. “You’ve managed to condense everything into… _that_?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, I’m used to it. Michael has the attention span of a monkey on crack. He can just about sit still through a 90 second YouTube video.”

“ _90 seconds_ …that’s precise.”

Michael grins. “Welcome to the modern world, Goblin King. Now are we going to start this weird pop quiz or what?”

Jareth steals a glance at Sarah, who looks back with cool amusement. “Why don’t we begin with your thoughts?”

Michael looks at Alex—as if to say take the lead, while Alex rolls his eyes.

“You gave us extremes,” the more studious twin tells Jareth. “Half the time, you’re described as some kind of messiah—half the time, you’re described as a power hungry, tyrannical maniac.”

“And which version, do _you_ suppose, is correct?” Jareth asks with an amused laugh.

Alex doesn’t miss a beat—“Both cases aren’t true.”

“ _Oh_? They aren’t?” Jareth teases—a hint of approval in his mocking tone.

“No,” Alex replies, unfazed—his pale eyes don’t waver as he holds his father’s gaze. “Extreme scenarios are almost _never_ true. I’m sure some parts are true, and some parts are false. So that would mean you’re both, messiah like and tyrannical. Using the same logic, it would also mean you’re neither.”

“Impressive,” Jareth rumbles—his face stays unreadable, but there’s a spark of emotion in his dual eyes. “Then let us start with the _latter half_ , shall we?” he asks rhetorically, focusing on Michael. “How did I become King, Michael?”

“Erm,” Michael squirms—unsure of how to answer such a question. The fact that he hadn’t really read Alex’s notes didn’t help either.

_How did someone become king anyway? Strange women lying in ponds, distributing swords?_

“Uh…” Michael stalls for time before venturing a guess. “Uh…did some woman jump out of a lake and hand you a sword?”

Alex chokes out a laugh, which dies out very quickly at the look on his father’s face. He glares at his brother as if silently telling him to ‘stop quoting Monty Python, you’re pissing him off.’

“No,” Jareth replies—voice dangerously calm. “Care to try again?”

Michael laughs nervously, “That’s good then—strange women lying in ponds, distributing swords is no basis for a system of government…” he almost winces at Jareth’s impassive face. “I guess you didn’t find that funny. Erm…erm…erm…”

And just like that, a lightbulb flashes in Michael’s head, and he replies with, “The old one died?”

There’s pin drop silence for a few seconds—Jareth doesn’t move a muscle as he stares at Michael with detached anger. “You should care to note that I do not take laziness well, Michael,” Jareth says, his words deliberately slow—dual eyes, hard as diamonds. “You will read anything and everything I assign. Or you shall… _experience_ …what it means to disobey the Goblin King. Have I made myself clear?”

Michael stands angrily—teenage hormones cutting his patience short. “Fuck _that_ —I don’t have to do what you tell me to do.”

Jareth follows Michael’s actions and stands tall—towering over his combative son, a terrifying expression on his face. “Sit down.”

Just as Michael is about to tell him to fuck off, Sarah hastily steps between them. “Stop it, both of you.”

A look of bewilderment flits across Jareth’s face before settling into its impassive mask. Taking in a ragged breath, he laughs genuinely. “I apologize, Sarah…I underestimated Michael’s ability to rile my temper.”

Sarah nods before turning around and giving her son a stern look. “Michael… _cooperate_ ,” she chides. “The more you cooperate, the easier it’ll be for everyone.” She raises a hand just as he’s about to answer her, and shakes her head. “I’m sure Jareth’s very busy, and I want you to finish this… _history session_ …with him before we head to the PTA.”

“Could we not continue after the event?” Jareth asks.

Sarah shakes her head. “We’re going out to dinner with Robert right after—you need to finish up in 20 minutes Jareth or we’ll be late.”

Michael brightens up Sarah mentions the word dinner. “Are we trying out the new Ethiopian place?”

“Yes—but only if you cooperate with Jareth,” Sarah warns, smiling to herself as she hears him mumble ‘it’s not fair.’

Alex rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time—his brother’s so easily manipulated. “Can we seriously finish this already?” he asks, turning to Jareth. “You became King by killing the former Queen. Two of the books said you didn’t just kill the Queen, you slaughtered her entire family and took the crown for yourself.”

“Hmm,” Jareth muses. “I suppose you could say that I did.”

Alex sobers up at the admission. “…And that you killed the entire Court.”

“I gave them a choice,” Jareth says, eyes studying Alex’s expression. “To bow or die. Most chose death.”

“Why?” Michael chimes in, suddenly interested. “That makes no sense at all.”

Jareth doesn’t answer—instead, looking to Alex.

“Because your bloodline wasn’t pure enough. Most of the Queen’s Court thought they were better than you.”

Michael frowns, still confused. “So they chose to die because they thought they were better than Jareth, because of some bullshit bloodline thing?”

 “Bloodlines matter in my world… _our world_ , Michael,” Jareth explains—he’s amused by Michael’s outrage. “I was born into a relatively poor estate. Although the Queen allowed my parents into her Court, my bloodline was considered too far from the throne to be of any… _value_.”

“That’s pretty stupid, considering you were probably more powerful than any of them,” Michael concludes.

“I wouldn’t use those words, but I agree with the general sentiment,” Jareth says with a canine grin, turning back to Alex. “What else do you believe is true, Alex?”

“You freed all indentured servants, and dislodged the magic that tied all lesser Fae to the land. You facilitated a goblin revolution—you’re the first of the gentry to allow goblins freedom over their own magic.”

Jareth raises his brows, seemingly impressed. “You went as far as the goblin revolution?”

Alex shrugs. “I read everything.”

“Every single page?”

“Yup—I’m what you call a speed reader,” Alex explains. Curiosity gets the best of him and he brings up a small piece of information that had stuck in his mind. “You had _help_ in organizing the goblin revolution, someone called Irena.”

A muscle twitches in Jareth’s jaw—the only reaction he shows. “I didn’t realize she was mentioned.”

“I read that she was beheaded by the old Queen.” Alex studies Jareth’s face curiously—he wonders who the woman was and what she meant to Jareth. “She was part of the Queen’s Court.”

“Yes.” Jareth’s voice is devoid of any emotion. “She was supposed to be superior gentry—they did not appreciate her advocating for the lesser fae.” He stands up swiftly, indicating that their little history discussion is complete. “Michael, I expect you to finish reading each and every single page by fortnight.”

Michael raises his brows and turns towards Alex, who answers, “two weeks.” Alex doesn’t wait for Michael to agree—he looks at Jareth and says, “He’ll do it….granted you answer all our questions.”

Jareth, for his part, turns to Sarah, eyebrows raised in question.

Sarah grins. “Welcome to the world of parenting fourteen-year-old twins, Jareth.”

\--

_(Outside Sarah’s apartment)…_

“Something on your mind?” Jareth ventures, eyes intent on the mortal woman, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. She seems lost in thought.

Sarah looks away for a few moments—debating whether she should say anything. “You’ve had an interesting life,” she says slowly—her voice wavers as painful memories flood her mind.

“ _Precious_?” Jareth says, wincing as he realizes he’s used an affectionate nickname she doesn’t care for. “Sarah—are you feeling well?”

Taking a deep breath, she turns towards him, eyes hard with determination. “ _Why_ would you go after someone like me? I was a kid, Jareth—what did you gain from trying to ruin a teenager’s life?”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references – Jareth did not find the Monty Python quotes funny at all. That sparring lesson isn’t going to go so well for Michael ;)
> 
> A bit of history on Jareth. Was he capable of loving someone in his ‘revolutionary’ days – I’d say no. But…but…but…is he capable of loving his children in the future? Hmm—food for thought.
> 
> AN: good news folks. The domestic front is sorted—have a cook who’s like insane. As in insanely good. ‘Where have you been all my life? I’m going to fall at your feet and say ‘I’m not worthy!’’ level of good. I can now understand Wodehouse novels where Aunt Dahlia’s all obsessed that someone’s going to poach her cook.
> 
> Bad news—I’m having fun at work. Which means I get a little psychotic and move around in a frenzied pace—cuts into writing time. And then I do a million, gazillion things…all at once. It’s a very structured mania of sorts. So…less time to write.  
> 
> Anyways—I promise an increase in update frequency. Some extra work has just been dumped on my head so, let’s see. What else? Wimbledon. Wimbledon. Wimbledon. If the tennis gods are kind, we’ll have an awesome Rafa / Federer match at some point. The tennis gods are fucking moody bitches so let’s see how that goes.


	18. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior, the Goblin King’s castle)…_

Sarah trembles, recalling Lady Aleyhra’s exact words—she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to accomplish such a task.

_“My little mortal mouse,” the bright eyed Lady says sweetly, with an even sweeter smile on her lips. “All you have to do is bring me one of his magic crystals. It must hold his magic…not all the crystals he uses have his…personal essence.”_

_“But where would I get a crystal?” she asks, despair creeping into her voice. “He conjures them up at will.” And she highly doubts he’s going to conjure one up just so that she can steal it._

_Aleyhra laughs—the sound mischievous. “So ignorant of our ways,” she observes, “…and yet you hold enough power to command his attention.”_

_She shivers. “I don’t want it.”_

_“I can assume,” Aleyhra says in agreement—the Goblin King’s attention is, no doubt, a double edged sword. “His crystals, little mouse, do not appear out of will. He keeps them secure in his room…and Esiel tells me that you have unfettered access to His Majesty’s personal chambers…imagine that?”_

_“But I don’t know how I can steal his crystal…”_

_“Oh, no little mouse,” Aleyhra tsks in a reprimanding tone. “Don’t think of it as stealing one of his crystals, think of it as borrowing it…for me. And as for how…I can help. I’ve heard, from a very good source, that when his passions are awakened, he can continue for hours on ends. Entice him. Torture him. Tease him.”_

_Aleyhra pauses to laugh at the scandalized expression on the mortal’s face. “Let me teach you how,” she says, before going on to show the inexperienced mortal all the ways in which she can seduce the Goblin King._

_“The first thing you must do…is take over his power, little mouse.”_

She looks around the room nervously, wondering where he could hide a bunch of crystals. She focuses on every nook and cranny until she hears his deep baritone resonate against the walls.

“Did you lose something?”

With a startled shiver, she turns to look at him, desperately hoping that she doesn’t look guilty. “A silver pin that you gave me.” She comes up with a lie quite easily—it’s not in her nature to deceive, but fear is a powerful motivator.

He laughs indulgently. “Do not fret, precious one—I will empty the kingdom’s vault should you ask.” He reaches her in a few powerful strides, pale eyes darkening with lust when he sees her attire.

She smooths her sheer nightgown with shaky fingers when she sees the ravenous expression on his face. Her nipples harden, and desire pulses between her legs even though her stomach sinks with fear.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she says evenly, willing a smile on her face. “…I think your crystals are far more precious than any jewelry that’s stashed away in a damp, old vault.”

He runs his hands over the silky fabric of her nightgown—his cock hardening to the point of pain. The minx is dressed in black lace, her body peeks out from underneath—it’s hidden, but not quite. He can see the outlines of her nipples, and the triangle between her legs. He runs a hand up a slit on the side, and cups her sex.

She takes in a deep breath when she feels him caress the skin of her heated center. She knows she needs to please him—she needs to keep him relaxed and satiated, as Aleyhra had explained to her earlier in the day.

“Where did you find this attire?” he asks, voice rough as he palms her nipples until they pebble, protruding out of the sheer material.

She gasps, feeling his hot mouth enclose over a nipple—the combination of his tongue and the lacey fabric against her sensitive nub makes her cry out in pleasure. “Jareth,” she moans out his name when he repeats the action with her other breast.

He keeps stroking her wet core with his fingers, but he keeps away from her entrance or her clit. “Precious girl,” he murmurs, “…you have no idea what you do to me.” He places open mouthed kisses along her neck, her jaw, until he reaches an earlobe—he traces the sensitive skin of her ears with his tongue.

_“The first thing you must do…is take over his power, little mouse.”_

She recalls Aleyhra’s words, and pushes herself out of her lust filled haze. She needs him to lose control—she needs him fully satiated. Pulling herself out of his embrace, she looks up at him and smiles coyly. “I want to learn more,” she says with as much conviction as she can garner. “You taught me how to please you with my mouth—teach me everything else, Jareth.”

But he doesn’t respond.

Instead, he pulls her to himself and crushes his mouth against hers in a savage kiss. The flimsy thread of control that’d kept his passion in check, withers away when she returns his kiss with equal vehemence.

“Sarah,” he groans, voice hoarse with lust and something else. _This little slip of a mortal girl would be his undoing, no doubt._

She looks up at him, eyes dark with desire, before leading him to the spacious couch next to the fireplace. The heat of the roaring fire only fuels her desire…and also strengthens her resolve. She smiles at him as he sits on the couch, and she straddles him, knees on either side of his hips—her body hovering over his.

“I’m going to undress you, Your Grace,” she says slowly, her fingers reaching for the hooks on his leather jacket.

Jareth loses himself to her touch. He feels her inexperienced but determined hands run down his chest, over his nipples with barely perceptible pressure. She looks into his eyes as she takes off his boots, one after the other—and then she moves on to unhook his pants. He lifts his hips as she pulls away his pants, leaving him naked, while she remains clothed in her sheer gown…and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sarah’s heart threatens to burst right out of her chest— _now what_?

She tries recalling Aleyhra’s lesson and holds his erection in her hands. His flesh is hot to touch, she looks on curiously as a small bead of shiny liquid forms at the very top. She doesn’t know what happens next—she can’t quite explain it rationally—but her movements are automatic. She kneels between his legs, and takes the tip of his cock in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the skin that covers the head.

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting the maddening urge to hold her head and thrust into her sweet mouth. “Stop, precious.”

She does as he asks, placing open mouthed kisses up his length…up his abdomen…until she reaches his hard chest. She runs her tongue across his nipples. She grinds her arousal soaked flesh against his cock, and kisses her way up his neck, until she reaches a pointy ear. “Teach me, Your Grace,” she whispers hoarsely.

His control snaps at her words, and he grasps her roughly by her upper arms. “I shall, precious—but not tonight.”

In one smooth motion, he positions both of them on the floor—he lifts one of her legs, his movements far from gentle, before driving into her with merciless force. His pale eyes are dark with uncontained lust, his chest heaves with exertion—sweat beads down his neck as he drives into her in long, hard, unforgiving strokes.

She opens her mouth in both, pleasure and shock—he’s never been this rough with her before—he had always held himself back, as if she were made of glass…not tonight. She cries out as he drives farther and farther into her—making her writhe in pleasure, and curl up in pain. The gauzy fabric of the nightgown scratches against her nipples as it pulls along her flesh with each hard stroke. Her body tightens—every muscle coils up like a spring as his strokes become harder…until he pulls himself out, a ruthless smile on his face when she gasps in protest.

“Wait for it, precious thing,” he said—one hand reaches to rub her clit, and then he thrusts himself inside her, filling her to the brink.

She comes violently—so hard that tears sting her eyes. Rolling waves of pleasure wash over her as she spasms around his cock, making him thrust that much harder.

He is delirious with need, a need that only _she_ can satisfy…and he can’t get enough. He needs to go deeper into her—possess her completely. Blind fury builds in his chest—he feels a sense of possessiveness that borders on insanity when he thinks of letting his courtiers have her. _Never again_. She is his…and he will incinerate anyone alive should they touch what’s his.

Her body feels like it belongs to someone else—she can hear herself moan in wanton lust as he turns her around, and settles her on her hands and knees. The cold stone floor feels harsh on her skin, but he doesn’t give her enough time to process that.

He pushes her knees apart with vehement urgency before plunging himself inside her once again. He fucks her slowly, savoring the feel of her cunt as she grips him—enjoying the sounds she makes as she chases her orgasm. With one hand, he pulls her hair so that her ear is at level with his lips. “You will never leave my side, precious thing,” he promises darkly, his voice a low growl.

 _Is this really me_?...she wonders as she feels herself push back against him, spreading her legs further so that he can drive deeper into her. The pleasure she feels is unrivaled, she’s never felt like this before—like her body is weightless. But she also feels a repulsion so strong, she’s sick to her stomach. Tears stream down her face as the two polar opposite emotions war in her chest.

He grips her neck with one hand, placing just the right amount of pressure so that she feels a mild sense of dizziness. He holds her hips with the other, holding her in place as he increases his pace ruthlessly …until his cock grows heavy with eminent release…until he feels her tense…and her cunt walls flutter as she teeters on the edge.  

“Come for me, precious thing,” he demands harshly.

She moans in response. The pressure grows…and grows…until it reaches an unbearable peak. “Now,” she pleads, “Please, Jareth.”

He obliges—thrusting into her again and again until she falls over the edge…until he roars out his release, emptying himself inside her in long, hard streams.

His release triggers an orgasm so intense that she cries out in shock, as she writhes against him and begs him to stop. But he doesn’t stop moving inside her. One hand roughly pinches a nipple—triggering another release. She pushes back against each thrust, prolonging her ecstasy, until she can’t take it anymore. Until she collapses on the floor, her muscles completely languid and her body completely spent.

When her head clears up from post orgasm haze, she’s startled and sickened to realize that his violence only works to further excite her. The thought brings a fresh stream of tears to her eyes.

He picks her up in his arms when she starts crying, and takes her to his massive bathtub. He knows he shouldn’t have been so rough, but he couldn’t help himself. He thinks of ways he can make it up to her— _she’d said something about his crystals, hadn’t she?_

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

_Taking a deep breath, she turns towards him, eyes hard with determination. “Why would you go after someone like me? I was a kid, Jareth—what did you gain from trying to ruin a teenager’s life?”_

A flash of emotion flickers in his pale eyes, but the harsh lines on his face remain unreadable. “There was something about you, Sarah…something I couldn’t relinquish.”

“That’s not what _she_ told me, Jareth,” Sarah replies evenly, her gaze hard and unforgiving—cold, jade ice. “After all these years, you owe me the truth.”

A faint smile ghosts over his lips—it disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “You’re not naïve enough to believe everything _she_ said, are you?”

She looks away, forcing her emotions deep within herself. “This isn’t the right time to have this conversation,” she replies. But then again, would there ever be a right time for this conversation?

Jareth nods, holding out an ungloved hand. “Shall we?”

\--

_(Excelsior Academy)…_

_“Have you seen him?”_

_“He is…unique.”_

_“Fucking gorgeous, you mean.”_

_“Yes, but there’s something cold about him. Something…frightening.”_

_“…but didn’t she say he stays in a horse farm in Vermont?”_

_“People who own horse farms in Vermont don’t look like that, they look like Bernie Sanders.”_

\--

_(Excelsior Academy)…_

Sarah stops herself from rolling her eyes at the blatant stares from other parents. Jareth seems to draw attention even while dressed in an understated outfit. She’d already had people flock around them twice, introducing themselves to Jareth.

As a small, unique private school in Manhattan—that isn’t too low key, but not insanely through the roof either—Excelsior attracts a fair share of ‘famous’ parents. There are musicians, actors, a famous author or two, and, of course, a few from the top of the banking food chain. Yet, no one attracts as much attention as the Goblin King in human clothing.

She wonders if it’s his magic that pulls mortals towards him—the thought makes her scoff internally. It had certainly worked on her young mind all those years ago.

“Ms. Williams?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” She snaps back to attention. “Please continue.”

Mrs. Ventura, a stern woman in her 60s, frowns. “We don’t like restricting creativity, Ms. Williams—but Michael crosses the line between what’s creative and what’s unacceptable far too many times.”

The Goblin King raises a brow, and looks to Sarah to take the lead. He can’t say he’s happy or satisfied with the kind of ‘education’ his sons receive in this pathetic institution. The instructors seem like they wouldn’t be fit to teach goblins, let alone the heirs to his kingdom. So far, all he’d heard was how the institution does not encourage competition, how everybody wins at life, and how spirit matters more than performance. Utter drivel.

“I’m very sorry Mrs. Ventura,” Sarah replies, “…it would be helpful if you could tell me some of the things he’s done.”

“We don’t encourage teachers tattling to parents, Ms. Williams…it disrupts the bond of trust between students and instructors.”

This catches Jareth’s attention—he can’t help but bark out a short laugh. “Perhaps you can enlighten me on how you expect Sarah to discipline Michael if she doesn’t know what he’s done.” His tone is all ice, with a hint of amused contempt.

Mrs. Ventura stills as she turns towards the boys’ father—she’d never seen him before, and there’s something about him she finds unnerving. “Well…Mr. Williams—”

“He isn’t,” Sarah interrupts quickly, elbowing Jareth to stay quiet. “He isn’t Mr. Williams. Mrs. Ventura, I’m not going to betray your trust, but it would be very helpful if you could tell me _something_.”

“Very well,” the teacher relents. “I teach English literature, as you well know…Michael has made it a habit to scribble down the word Ace in front of my name any time he has the chance.”

Sarah gapes at that, while Jareth stares at the woman evenly.

Mrs. Ventura continues, “…and he quotes The Exorcist repeatedly during his chemistry class.”

Sarah’s mouth stays agape. “The Exorcist?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Ventura says with a sigh. “Mr. Kowalski is known to be rather tough on students…particularly those of whom he considers…get special treatment for being on various sports teams.”

Sarah frowns. “I just spoke to Mr. Kowalski—Michael’s grades are fine.”

“Yes, and you can thank Alex for that. However, there are other students from the lacrosse team who have been on the receiving end of Mr. Kowalski’s ire…and I believe Michael makes it his mission to annoy Mr. Kowalski.”

“But what does he actually do?”

“Mr. Kowalski has a bit of a twitch, and Michael whispers ‘the power of Christ compels you’ every time his back is turned. The kids break out into laughter—the entire class is disrupted. Michael has a persona that makes the other children look up to him...his behavior encourages them to do the same.”

“I am _so_ sorry,” Sarah apologizes, making a note to give Michael a piece of her mind when she gets back. She’d gone back on her word and let him play lacrosse in spite of the incident at Jareth’s castle, but now she’ll make sure to stick to the punishment she’s laid out. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do this anymore.”

The Goblin King, who’s witnessed the entire exchange with cool amusement, fixes his icy gaze on the mortal instructor. “I fail to understand why your institution is incapable of disciplining its attendants.”

“Well…I don’t quite know what you mean,” Mrs. Ventura responds. “Michael has always canceled his demerits by taking on community service…he receives adequate disciplining.”

Sarah tries her best to get Jareth quiet…to no avail. The Goblin King throws his head back and laughs. The sinister sound attracts more than a few glances.

“Perhaps you should try something more effective,” Jareth says derisively.

Mrs. Ventura frowns. This is the first time she’s seen the boys’ father, and he exudes a certain arrogance that irritates her as much as it fills her with an irrational sense of fear. “What do you suggest?”

Jareth smiles sharply, eyes glimmering as the instructor takes a step back at the sight of his feral teeth. “An iron tipped whip would work wonders, Mrs. Ventura—your charming institution should try it.”

The teacher’s jaw drops wide open, as does Sarah’s—but she’s quick to recover.

She glares at Jareth. “He’s joking,” she states flatly.

“Yes,” Jareth drawls, lips twitching with suppressed amusement, “…but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Sarah doesn’t respond to him, instead, she looks at Mrs. Ventura and offers her an apologetic smile. “I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Ventura—thank you for bringing this problem to my notice. I’d have taken care of it far earlier if someone had filled me in on it.”

“We like allowing our students to evaluate their behavior and come to a conclusion themselves, Ms. Williams. Michael only needs a little push.”

Taking the look of incredulity on Jareth’s face into account, Sarah holds his arm to quiet him. “Thank you,” she says hastily. “We’ll see you at the next PTA.” Saying that, she drags Jareth out of Excelsior before he can say anything else to shock the unfortunate English teacher.

Jareth allows himself to be led by Sarah, giving her a sense of control that would work well in his favor. “Are we heading elsewhere? I was under the impression that you had a dinner engagement with Robert later on in the night.”

Forcing her anger aside, Sarah crosses her arms and glares at a very bemused Goblin King. “I told you not to say anything.” Her voice comes out steady in spite of the rage brewing underneath.

A laconic brow. “Come now, Sarah. That woman was ridiculous.”  His words are laced with humor, but his gaze is sharp—he wants to study her reaction, taking in every minute detail.

She holds his penetrating gaze, refusing to give in to the anger bubbling up her chest. That’s what the bastard wants. “I don’t know what you expect of me, Goblin King,” she states calmly, her eyes equally as sharp as his, “…but you keep pushing me for something…I don’t know what. Are you so willing to risk further alienating me when you need my cooperation?”

A slow, delighted laugh. “Oh, _precious thing_ ,” he croons, unable to resist going back to his affectionate nickname for her, even though he knows she hates it. “Where did you learn to use threats so effectively?”

She answers him with a cold, hard stare. “I learned from the best.”

“I know you mean that as an insult, precious—but I don’t see it that way,” he says—one long fingered hand reaches out to hold her chin. “You’ve become far stronger than I ever imagined.”

His touch is warm, a direct contract to his icy tone. She knows she should shove his hand away…but she doesn’t. She can feel the Labyrinth’s magic react deep within herself—it’s like an intangible magnetic pull—an involuntary reaction.

He holds her chin in place, tipping it up slightly so that he’s looking into her eyes. “Do you feel that, Sarah? Your body reaches for mine—the magic within you tries leashing itself to something familiar. You are connected to me _and_ my kingdom in an inescapable hold, precious thing. Perhaps it’s time both of us learn to accept that. ”

His words are enough for her to step back with a start. The idea of being connected to him and his kingdom is a terrifying prospect.

“There is no connection between us, Jareth,” she all but hisses. “And there will never be one, if I can help it.” 

“You must accept that you _cannot_ help it, precious thing,” he murmurs, voice low. “The connection already exists—you can’t deny that. I know you feel it…you feel _me_.”

Her veneer of strength slips for a second, and her eyes widen with fear. “Get rid of it, please,” she whispers—panic setting in. “Please, Jareth—I can’t…”

The smile on his face turns cold. “ _Oh_? Can’t you?” He mocks her cruelly. “How ironic, precious thing—as neither can I. I suppose it’s time for you to adhere to the mortal belief that one doesn’t always get what one wants.”

…and just like that, she regains her composure. She laughs coldly, her eyes hardening to shards of jade ice. “You always seem to get _exactly_ what you want, _Your Grace_.”

His gaze softens as she regains her self-control. He can’t help but surmise that she’d make a wonderful queen—one carved out of ice and fury. “What is it that I want, Sarah? Do you even know?”

“You want Michael and Alex,” she replies, a shiver runs up her spine when his gaze turns heated. “You want…”

“Go ahead, finish the thought,” he murmurs, in a singsong voice. “Tell me what I want.”

“Me. You want me.”

A rich, throaty laugh. “Very simplistic line of thought, precious. I want to… _revel_ in your body. I want to explore the woman that you’ve become…I want to erase the memory of every mortal you’ve fucked, including your beloved Robert. I want to fuck you, fill you with my release, drive you wild with need, and mark you as mine…” He stops talking when he notices her eyes darken with anger and lust. _Oh precious, you’re not as calm around me as you pretend to be_. “Do you wish to hear more?”

She swallows, and shakes her head. His words and his scorching eyes awaken a perverse lust within her core. “Please don’t do this right now.”

The tremor in her voice tempers him down a little. “Very well. I will not do this… _right now_. I shall leave you to your dinner engagement.”

With those words, the Goblin King disappears from the mortal realm…leaving a trembling Sarah behind.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I might have had a grumpy old librarian at my school…called Mrs. Ventura…and I might have scribbled Ace in front of her name any time I saw it posted on any board. A teacher once told me to stand outside the class coz he couldn’t take my behavior any more—and I just walked away and read a book in the garden. When he opened the door five mins later to let me in, he was all WTF. Then I got him into trouble b/c getting a student to stand out in the hallway wasn’t part of school policy. LMAO – I bet he still curses me to this day.
> 
> I gave most teachers hell, and it annoyed the crap out of them that I always managed to stay on top of my class – graduated top 3% of a fairly large class, with high SAT and AP scores.
> 
> ‘This won’t work in the real world, K.’
> 
> Me—now: ‘look at me now, bitches. Life’s good.’ Mehehehehe.
> 
> Ah the innocence of childhood.
> 
> There’s a lesson here, young peeps – ‘all in all [school’s] it’s just another brick in the wall.’ Or so I heard.
> 
> It’s official. The tennis gods are total bitches. Federer lost. Which led to one of the most boring matches ever. Then Rafa lost :( but that was a good match.


	19. Fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.
> 
> Warning II: this chapter may be triggering to those who’ve faced sexual abuse—or any other trauma.
> 
> Also -- shout out to all the *good* teachers out there. Wanted to say, you guys are awesome -- it sounds like a thankless job and if you're truly dedicated to it then, you're a much better person than I am. Keep up the good work.

 

**\--**

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams age 22)…_

“Michael, please stop,” she says—her voice trembles, and tears of frustration threaten to stream down her face _. I’m not going to cry_ —she repeats in her head, over and over until the tears die down. Michael had accidently knocked over her coffee all over her LSAT practice book—over a practice exam she’d spent hours working on. “Stop, baby.”

The three year old boy looks at his mother, confused—he’s simply too young to understand her distress, or her busy schedule. “Mommy read!” he demands, with all the insistence of a toddler who refuses to be deprived of his mother for too long, handing her one of his books.

“Read,” Alex repeats after his brother, handing her another book.

“Boys, I have to study—I’m busy,” she says, tears pricking her eyelids once again. It’s all too much—she taking four courses—the last four she has to complete to get her degree, and she’s studying for the LSATs simultaneously. Add two boisterous three year old boys, and the situation devolves into chaos.

“How about _I_ read to you, Michael?” Karen cuts in—she takes a look at her stepdaughter’s face, and rushes to her immediately. “Sarah, sweetheart, you’re falling apart—you have to take a break.”

“Mommy fall apart,” Alex repeats—he looks at his mother, wide eyed, before running to her and holding her legs. “I’ll save you.”

Both, Karen and Sarah burst out laughing at Alex’s emotional display—he’s usually the calmer of the two, but when it comes to Sarah—he’s pretty attached.

“Not _literally_ , Alex,” Sarah says—never mind that he probably doesn’t know what the word means. “I’m fine, kid—you can let go.” She ruffles his hair until it becomes as wild as his brother’s. “Grandma Karen can read to you tonight, okay? I promise I’ll read you a story tomorrow night.”

Karen smiles at the two toddlers, who look like they’re ready to argue—“I’ll tell you a secret if you come with me quietly,” she promises. When it comes to bribes, she’s had good experience with Toby—she knows that catering to curiosity works _way_ better than bribes that involve food or toys.

“A good secret?” Alex asks, his eyes suddenly suspicious.

“A _really juicy_ secret,” Karen replies, her voice full of hushed excitement. “But you have to come with me right away, okay?”

Michael looks at Alex, who nods at him. “Okay.”

“Take a break tonight, Sarah,” Karen advises as she ushers the excited toddlers away from their haggard mother.

Sarah smiles at her stepmother but shakes her head. “I can’t—I have to get a good enough score to get into NYU. But thanks, Karen.” And she truly is thankful.

Karen had switched from working full time to part time, just so Sarah could go to college, and complete her internships. Without Karen, she’d…she has _no idea_ where she’d be right now. Obviously, her mother and father would have helped—but Karen is amazing with the boys. She knows all the tricks and rewards required to keep them at their best behavior.

Sarah shuts the door to her father’s office when they leave—taking some paper towels, she dabs her practice book. There are times she wonders if she’s overstretching herself beyond her limits—perhaps she should just accept that she doesn’t _have_ to attend NYU…

_NO! Don’t even go there, Williams!_

Clenching her fists, she heads to the kitchen to make herself a double shot of espresso. She’s not going to be deterred—being deterred means letting _him_ win. And she won’t have that, not after everything he’s taken away.

\--

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams age 25)…_

Dr. Meyer gives Sarah Williams some much required space—she looks at her with a blank expression on her face. The young woman faces sexual difficulties that many, especially those who’ve faced some kind of abuse during their childhood, experience. Yet, there’s something different about her.

“You’ve said you feel there’s something wrong with you, Sarah—what makes you say that?”

Sarah looks away, balling her hands into fists. It had been difficult enough to talk to her doctor about her… _problems_ …but going into detail would be excruciating. _Still_ —Dr. Meyer is the only person who can help her here, so she’s going to try her best.

“That’s not exactly it—I don’t think there’s something wrong with me. I just… _feel_ …wrong. Like I’m damaged.”

“Did something happen last night, for you to say that?” Dr. Meyer asks, face as neutral as her voice. Sarah’d called her for an emergency session citing something that had occurred the previous night.

“Yes,” Sarah replies softly, looking away. “I couldn’t…I can’t make myself…” She holds her head in her hands. “I’ve been dating Brad for three years now…”

“Did something happen last night?”

Sarah shakes her head. “It’s not just last night. Brad is tender—he’s considerate—he gets along well with the boys. Yet I can’t seem to enjoy having sex with him…I need…” _his_ specific brand of corruption.

It’s the doctor’s turn to shake her head. “Human sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of, Sarah—different people have different needs. The best thing to do would be to talk to Brad and sort things out. You could see a sex therapist if it comes to that—I can give a few recommendations.”

“Brad is…he’s _nice_ —he’s _protective_ —I _should_ want him,” Sarah exclaims, anger clouding her mind—anger directed towards herself. She looks at her doctor with desperation in her eyes. “Why don’t I? There’s something wrong with me.”

Dr. Meyer studies her patient with an even gaze, letting her calm down before speaking. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sarah. Human sexuality is varied—unique—have you tried talking to Brad?”

Sarah shakes her head ‘no.’ “What can I say to him? Hold me down? Pull my hair? Bite me hard—tease me until I’m sobbing? That I want to slap him on the face—make him angry enough to punish me,” She pauses, her face turning red—she knows she’s in a judgment free zone, but it’s difficult admitting such personal details. “Why do I even _want_ that in the first place? Is it because of him? What he did to me?”

“Sarah, we can’t pinpoint a specific reason as to why people want the things they do. In some cases, early encounters of certain sexual activities may have a somewhat lasting effect on an individual. In other cases, it doesn’t—we can’t imply causation,” Dr. Meyer allows Sarah to process that for a few seconds. “You’ve met various people at your group, you must have found some common ground.”

“Some,” Sarah agrees. She looks away—suddenly furious. “Maybe I _would have_ wanted the same things if I never met him—maybe I _wouldn’t have_. He’s taken that choice away from me. He’s molded me into who I am and I hate that…I hate that _so much_.”

“What about your dreams,” Dr. Meyer prods, changing the subject—Sarah has a tendency to withdraw when anger takes over, and that would be counterproductive. “Are you still seeing him in your dreams?”

“They’re becoming worse,” Sarah replies with a shudder. “I’m as violent as he is. I match him in his… _depravity_ …and I like it. Like is too light a word—I _cherish_ it—I _crave_ it. And I always want more. I can sense him, you know, I feel like he’s looking for me—reaching out to me.”

“How is he reaching out?”

Sarah purses her lips into a thin line. He reaches out through magic, she’s certain—but she can’t tell her doctor that. “I can’t explain. It’s just a feeling.”

\--

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams age 29)…_

“Sarah, honey, I really think you should rethink your decision. You can purchase a nice house, and have enough to put aside as a contingency fund if you sell that apartment. You won’t have to dig into your savings to fish out for private school—the school districts here are really good.”

Sarah listens to her father halfheartedly. It’s a familiar lecture, one he’d insisted she listen to ever since she’d told him she would eventually move into the city. “Dad—I _work_ in the city. I’ll barely see them if I have to commute to and back.”

Robert sighs—his daughter is too damn stubborn for her own good. “You realize you can easily get a job with me, right?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t want to do that,” Sarah replies with a shake of her head. “I’m not going to let my _decision_ affect my career, dad. In any case, I want the boys to grow up in the city—be a little street smart. I used to tremble while taking the subway when I was sixteen—I want them to be more…competent.” _Less afraid_.

Just as Robert is about to argue some more, hoping his stubborn mule of a daughter will see some reason to his words, he’s interrupted by the _product_ of her decision— _one product_ , anyway.

“What decision, mom?” 10-year-old Michael asks, eyes wide with curiosity. “And what’s street smart?”

Sarah smiles. “My decision to have you, of course—and Alex.” She’d never been one to keep them from the truth. Not that she is overtly blunt with the truth, but she’s not going to sugar coat life for her sons either. “Street smart means—”

“It means being able to cope with real problems life throws at you,” Alex interrupts her, looking up from his comic book. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

Sarah laughs while Michael mutters, ‘ _Show off_.’

“That’s right, Alex,” Robert intervenes, giving his daughter a disapproving look. “Living in a matchbox sized apartment, instead of selling it, _isn’t_ a street smart decision.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Sarah says with a roll of her eyes. “I know my expenses are going to skyrocket—but I think it’s for the best. I start work next month—I want the boys to start the new school year at Excelsior.”

“She has a point, Rob,” Karen cuts in, giving her husband a warm cup of tea. She touches his arm with one hand—the action indicating a very wifely, unspoken command of ‘stop talking.’ “Statistics show that children brought up in larger cities are better prepared for life as adults than children brought up in static suburbs.”

Sarah nods in agreement. “Thanks Karen. Dad—I’m extremely grateful that you and mom put aside all that money for me when I needed it. But there’s no point in me hoarding it all—who am I going to spend it on, if not Michael and Alex?”

Robert softens when she mentions his grandsons’ names. “I suppose,” he agrees grudgingly. “But what if there’s an emergency and we can’t reach you in time?”

“Oh _dad_ ,” Sarah says with a laugh—trust her father to still think of her as a kid. “I’m almost 30-years-old—I can handle emergencies.”

“And we’re going to be eleven in a few months, granddad,” Alex adds. “We’re old enough to take care of mom.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

“You’re upset,” she says, taking a sip of wine. They’re back at Robert’s place—the boys have taken the train to her parents’ house.

Robert smiles. “You’re too perceptive for your own good…”

“It’s about Jareth, isn’t it?” She smiles back weakly—she knows the conversation that’s coming up next and she doesn’t want to face it yet.

“It’s not about him—it’s about you,” Robert says, taking one of her hands into his own—squeezing it reassuringly. This conversation can easily degenerate into a fight—one which he wishes to avoid. “You’ve been distracted—I can understand why…”

She raises a brow. “But…?”

“It’s a lot to take in, Sarah,” he says honestly. “We put a stop to our plans of moving in together. You take him to PTAs. And you’re distracted _all the time_ —it’s like you’re somewhere else. Even when we make love.”

“Right,” she says, looking away—composing herself before she speaks. “I’ve never had this conversation with anyone other than Dr. Meyer.”

His eyes widen at that. “Sarah, I don’t want you to—”

“No,” she interrupts, looking into his eyes. “I think you have a right to know—I _trust_ you.”

Robert doesn’t say anything—he squeezes her hand reassuringly once again and waits until she collects her thoughts.

“I started _dating_ Jareth when I was 18,” she begins, her eyes become cold and distant. “I thought he was in love with me…which was stupid considering he was pursuing me to fulfil some kind of a bet or a deal he had with one of his lovers.”

“That sounds fucked up.”

“The deal wasn’t about him dating me. Going by what she said—he was supposed to _break_ me…and he did. He shattered me in such a way that I wasn’t the same…part of me is closed off and I will never open up again. Not completely, anyway.”

“What did he do?” Robert asks, eyes wide—lips slightly parted in shock, horror, and anger. _What kind of a sick bastard goes after an 18 year old…to break her?_

She looks away—she doesn’t want to see pity in his eyes for what she’s about to say next. “A few things—the worst of which was when he left me in a room full of people…blindfolded and naked…and he made me—”

“Stop,” Robert says abruptly, standing up—his face drawn out in outrage. “This guy should be in jail, Sarah.”

“I was 18, and he had my consent—I wanted to make him happy,” she says evenly—having prepared an answer for Robert’s inevitable outrage. “Technically, he didn’t do anything illegal. The only reason he’s back in my life is that I want to take that power back from him—I want him to know that I will fight back.”

“Fuck.” Robert runs a hand through his thick brown hair and shuts his eyes. “What about Michael and Alex—he’d be a terrible influence on their lives.”

“He has some very old fashioned beliefs regarding his children—he views them as extensions of himself. So far, I believe that he’ll only act with their best interests at heart.”

Robert’s expression softens. “I want you to know I support you, Sarah—whatever you decide, I’m with you all the way.”

She doesn’t respond with words—closing the distance between them, she crushes her mouth against his in a heated kiss.

\--

_(The Goblin King’s chambers)…_

He watches the two figures in his crystal with rapt interest…he watches as they progress from the living area to the bedroom, lips locked—hands moving at a frenzied pace to tear at each other’s clothing.

…and then he focuses only on her. The expression on her face—the beads of sweat that drip off her brow, the blaze of passion in her otherwise icy eyes. He doesn’t care to look at the man—it doesn’t matter how ‘understanding’ he is, or how much his sons seem to like him—Sarah will have no choice but to leave him soon.

A slow smirk twists the Goblin King’s face—it takes a massive amount of self-control, but he’s able to squash down feelings of possessiveness when he sees the man become rougher in his movements. By the look on Sarah’s face, she seems to enjoy it…prefer it, even.

 _...I suppose, you have me to thank, precious_ —he thinks, his smirk growing wider as he contemplates what he should do next.

She said she’d been shattered—that he has broken her down—but he doesn’t believe that’s the case. _No_ …Sarah Williams is far too strong a woman to be shattered into a million tiny fragments. Perhaps he had broken her a little when she was younger…but without his interference, would she be the woman she is today?

He’s made her whole. If anything, _more_ complete than she could ever be otherwise. She’ll come to accept it soon enough. After all, what choice does she have? With the Labyrinth’s magic coursing through her veins, she is no longer human. She has nowhere to go…no one to turn to. No one but _him_.

\--

_(Sarah’s apartments, the Goblin King’s castle)…_

“This is the stupidest thing ever,” Michael complains, looking at the chart that’s placed before him. It’s a large parchment that showcases the seating arrangements for a dinner taking place later on in the night. “Why do we have to memorize who’s sitting where?”

Jareth fixes his son with an icy stare—satisfied as the boy looks away. “Because I’m asking you to.”

Just as Michael is about to respond, Alex looks up and shakes his head. “Not worth the argument, Michael—save your energy for something more important.”

That little exchange makes the Goblin King laugh delightedly—he looks at Sarah, who sits as far from him as possible. She looks unlike herself—her eyes dart around the room nervously—her hands shake when she lifts up a water goblet to her lips.

“Something on your mind, Sarah?”

She steels herself and raises her eyes to meet his—“What’s the point of this dinner, Jareth?”

A slow, lilting laugh. “I believe I already told you this, my dear—the point is that my heirs should get to know my court.”

“It’s not like we haven’t met them before,” Alex tells his father, just a tiny spark of aggression to his voice.

“This dinner is more…intimate. You’ll get to know them on a personal level.”

“I don’t see the point either,” Michael interjects, agreeing with his mother. “We’ve met them before—everyone talks to each other like they’re middle school girls.”

This makes Sarah smile—Jareth raises an amused brow. “How so?”

“No one says what they mean—it’s like they’re coming up with elaborate insults that don’t _sound like_ insults. What a waste of time—just say what’s on your mind and move on.”

Jareth’s eyes glitter with amusement…and something else. “Perhaps you will speak your mind tonight, Michael—dinner should be quite diverting, then.”

**\--**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Oh, Jareth.
> 
> Sarah’s apartment (I forgot whether I’d placed it in Gramercy Park or Murray Hill) –it’d be somewhere b/w 3 and 4 million USD. Assume her mother bought it years ago when she was doing theater in NY—pre Giuliani NY so cheaper (taking inflation into account).It would make more ‘financial’ sense for her to move to the suburbs, where 1/4th of that could buy her a decent enough place—but she’s adamant she wants kids who’re more cosmopolitan. She doesn’t want them super sheltered.
> 
> Assume her parents set up trusts for the boys as soon as they knew shew as going to have them. Their futures are fairly secure. They set up a few investments for Sarah—which did well. She paid for her degrees with her parents help and the rent she got from said apartment.
> 
> Even someone from Sarah’s background (in this fic) would have a tough time with teen pregnancy. I just do NOT understand middle aged women who’re obsessed with teeny bopper pregnant Sarah. It’s a little creepy, no? If someone’s 30+ and they’re like yay, an 18-yo got pregnant/married—they’re all kinds of craaazy. Like, I saw a true crime episode once where a crazy lunatic cut open a woman who was 9 months pregnant—just so she could steal her baby—okay, maybe not that level of crazy, but something similar.
> 
> Coming up in later chapters – ‘how to insert boring finance information in fanfiction’ LMAO. I’m sure that’ll be a first. Ah young peeps—the earlier you invest, the more your $ compounds—and the less your capital gains tax. Esp if you’re in the US—the tax breaks are awesome.
> 
> And more fun stuff too—like sex. Hate sex.


	20. Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Labyrinth or associated characters.
> 
> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.

 

**\--**

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams age 18)…_

“I was… _with_ …someone there. That’s all I can tell you,” Sarah mumbles, looking away from Celestina’s penetrating gaze.

“Ah,” Celestina replies curtly—her face is blank, but her thoughts race. There’s something about this girl, a faint hum of energy exudes out of her body. “Mortals do not mix well with the fae—this being you were with…did he make you sign anything?”

Sarah raises her brows—signing something sounds so mundane. “No…he wanted me to stay with him, though.”

“How is it that you were able to get away?” Celestina’s tone is absolutely neutral, but there’s a quiet intensity in her tone— _who is this girl?_

“Someone else helped me,” Sarah explains impatiently. “Look, it doesn’t matter who he is, or how I was able to get away—I just want to keep myself protected against him. Against any of them…they’re all dangerous.”

A sharp smile. “That they are—dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She holds out a hand, palm open, indicating that Sarah place her hand there. “May I?”

Nodding her consent, Sarah places her hand in the woman’s grasp—gasping as she sees her eyes…bleed. She doesn’t know how to explain it—the woman’s cornea seeps into the whites of her eyes, until the eyes turn entirely black. She feels a faint pull…as if the woman is reaching into her mind and scraping against something there.

“What’s happening?” Sarah asks, panic in her voice. She feels strange—heady. “Stop, please.”

Celestina lets go of the girl’s hand right away, wearing a warm smile on her face—she doesn’t wish to deal with a skittish rabbit…especially if said skittish rabbit happens to be an undiscovered gold mine of magic. “I believe we can come up with an agreement, Ms. Williams,” she states—back on formal terms. “I can give you the service you require absolutely free of charge.”

_Free of charge?_

Sarah’s jaw drops open— _this woman is willing to forgo thirty thousand dollars_? Recent events have turned her a little less trusting—she narrows her gaze. “What do you want in exchange?”

 _Hmm_ …Celestina muses…this girl isn’t as naïve as she’d previously thought. “You seem to possess a certain kind of magic that is…almost never seen aboveground. If you give us some…just a little…every quarter, we can continue providing you with the protection you require. Protection for you and your family, that is.” The last line is said very subtly, with an air of nonchalance—but the underlining threat is clear—give me what I want, and I’ll keep your family safe.

Clenching and unclenching her fists as she contemplates her choices, Sarah comes to the conclusion that she has only one option available to her. “How would you do that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing—just a small procedure. You’ll probably feel a little drained afterwards—we can arrange for someone to drop you home,” Celestina replies soothingly. There’s no point in telling the girl the… _details_ …of such a procedure. “Do you agree, Ms. Williams?”

Sarah nods. “You’ll have to drop me home when dad and Karen are at work—sometime in the afternoon.”

\--

_(The next evening)…_

She shivers—the hospital gown is too thin to keep her warm—the lights are too bright. “Really, I’m fine,” she grits out to the nurse, who looks at her comfortingly.

“Your parents are worried sick about you, sweetie,” the kindly nurse says, taking her temperature. “They said you weren’t conscious when they returned home from work. Have you eaten today?”

Sarah rolls her eyes—she knows the nurse is only doing her job, but all these unnecessary questions are really aggravating. “No,” she says quickly, “maybe that’s why I fainted—give me an apple and I’ll be fine.”

The nurse looks her over, her face is hollow and her frame is thin—but not unnaturally so, not for a growing teenager in any case. Still—she’s seen one too many girls come in with dangerously low blood pressure and even lower blood sugar. “We’ll have to take some standard tests,” she tells the girl, taking out a fresh needle. “Give me your arm.”

\--

_(…and the evening after that)…_

Sarah stares at the piece of paper—her eyes wide in horror.

“It’s okay, Sarah—not the end of the world. Look at me, it’s going to be fine,” Karen repeats for what feels like the hundredth time. Sarah’s sat in the same place, staring at her blood report for the last hour.

Karen had had to push Robert out of the room—the poor man hadn’t been able to keep himself from threatening bloody murder on the bastard who’d clearly taken advantage of his daughter. Linda had been even worse—she’d immediately gotten a hold of her lawyer and discussed the situation. She’d ended up threatening her lawyer when she’d found out there was nothing they could do—legally speaking. Karen had politely asked her to step outside while she dealt with Sarah—as she was the calmest adult in the vicinity. It had taken a bit of a fight, but both parents had grudgingly agreed—leaving Karen alone with Sarah.

Looking up at her stepmother, Sarah trembles. Her voice trembles with fear and disgust—“I can’t.”

Karen places a comforting arm around her stepdaughter. “You don’t have to. I’ll make an appointment for you—we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

\--

_(Interlude, Sarah Williams age 33, at a private party)…_

The brown haired man smiles at her—she smiles back. She has to admit—he is _very_ handsome—and he’s trying very hard to catch her attention. Noticing how she holds his gaze, he walks over towards her—stopping at the bar to get two glasses of champagne.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before—Robert Zimmer. I work with Matt,” he holds out a hand—he appraises her with interest as she shakes his hand firmly.

“Sarah Williams,” she says, flashing him a dazzling smile—she watches him intently as she speaks, studying his reaction to what she’s about to say next. “My kids go to the same school as Matt’s.”

Robert’s reaction is automatic—his eyebrows shoot up. This woman looks too young to have a child, let alone _more_. “Really? Same grade?”

She laughs. “You seem surprised, Robert Zimmer—and yes—my boys are in the eighth grade.”

He smiles sheepishly. “Guilty as charged—I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the most common reaction I get—especially in New York,” she says, taking the champagne glass from him. “I’ve never been sure what exactly Matt’s firm does—perhaps you can explain it to me.”

Robert’s smile deepens. “I have to decline answering that question—I really _don’t_ want to get into what we do.”

“Why not?”

“I’d like to get your number by the end of this conversation—that isn’t going to happen if I bore you to tears with the excruciating details of working in private equity.”

She can’t help but laugh heartily at that—he’s got a sense of humor—refreshing in anyone who works in private equity. “So you want my number, huh? You _do_ realize I have twin thirteen year old boys, Robert?”

Robert shrugs, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “As long as you don’t have a husband or a committed partner, we’re good.”

Her pulse races as she feels his breath fan her face. She feels something she hasn’t quite felt for anyone…anyone apart from _him_. The slow burning blaze of desire.

“What if I have an _uncommitted_ partner?” she asks, her voice taking on a low, seductive quality—her jade eyes darken as she flirts back.

“Then I have no qualms in asking you out. Have dinner with me tomorrow night.” He says the latter half with just the right amount of playfulness that brings a smile to her face.

“Sorry—we have movie night tomorrow,” she explains, her smile widens at his crestfallen expression, “…but I’m free Friday.”

\--

_(Friday night)…_

“Fuck. Fuck. I can’t—Sarah…”

She responds by wrapping her legs tightly around him, drawing him deeper into herself. The force of his thrusts pushes her back against the wall—her head hits the hard surface. She _loves_ it. “It’s alright,” she manages to whisper into his ear. “Fuck me harder.”

Robert complies—driving into her until he feels his abdominal muscles stiffen. He looks at her face, lips parting when he sees her expression—it’s drawn out in anguish and ecstasy. Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, her breasts heave up and down as she struggles breathing. He feels her take one of his hands and guide it to where they join—indicating that he press down…and so he complies.

She cries out her release—her body clenches painfully around him, triggering his as well. He keeps thrusting into her until the last of her tremors die down.

“Wow,” she wheezes out—barely able to breathe—she clenches around his semi hard cock, laughing softly when he groans. “That was… _intense_.”

“Yeah, um,” he stammers, suddenly shy—he hadn’t meant to jump her like a horny teenager. He’d wanted to have a glass of wine before making love to her slowly, like she deserved. He detangles himself from her, and pulls down her skirt, which has ridden up around her waist. “I’m sorry—I don’t normally… _do that_ …on a first date.”

The clock reads 11:23—an early night by Manhattan standards—the door to Robert’s apartment is closed, but unlocked. He hadn’t bothered locking it in his lust filled haze. They’d thrown their coats onto the floor before attacking each other with searing lips and searching hands. He hadn’t felt attraction like this since… _well_ …probably freshman year in undergrad.

He’s not the type to take a woman to bed on the first date—not after turning 40, in any case. Neither is he the type to fuck a woman against the wall until they’re both raw and bruised. But there’s something about this woman he can’t resist. He’d enjoyed her sense of humor throughout their, rather short, dinner date. He’d been surprised at how she’d insisted on getting the check—of course, he hadn’t let her pay for dinner—he is just a tiny bit old fashioned that way. He’d been flat out shocked when she’d suggested they go back to his place.

…and he obviously hadn’t said no. He’s not _that_ old fashioned.

Sarah laughs, reaching out to ruffle his thick brown hair—she finds his sudden reluctance charming. “It’s alright, Robert—I don’t care that you’re a big old slut.” She’s joking, of course—she’s not the type to use the word slut negatively—she’s only teasing.

Robert blanches. “I didn’t mean it like that—I just…” he pauses, noticing how her eyes sparkle. He laughs—“I’m not some prude, in case you’re wondering.”

“Oh, I don’t know—I hear prudes have some of the craziest sex going because they’re repressing themselves all the time. I wouldn’t mind testing that theory out sometime.” She winks at him, and moves to the foyer to find her shoes.

He follows her, a frown on his face. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

She pick up her coat from the floor and slips it on before flashing him a smile. “I had to beg my brother to babysit on a Friday night—I’ll be lucky if they haven’t burned the place down by now.”

“Oh…” he didn’t know she had a brother—he feels the need to know more about her. “Perhaps I can bribe him to stay the night? _Without_ burning down your place, I mean.”

“He’s a senior in high school—unless it’s a reliable weed dealer, I don’t know what else you can bribe him with,” she counters with a laugh. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re the smoking up type.”

His eyes spark with humor. “You seem so sure—what gives me away?”

“Private equity—which means you were in IB…?” She smiles slyly when he nods. “And that means you’re more into the powdery white stuff than the flammable green stuff.”

Robert laughs warmly—he’s impressed by her quick wit. “Neither, actually. But I have to say, I love your… _interesting_ …drug references.”

“Really? No white powders? In investment banking?” She moves closer to him—extending an arm to trace his lips with her fingers. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t even drink coffee—my heart feels like it’s going to burst,” he explains, holding her hand and kissing her fingers one by one. “One hit of coke and I’d probably have a heart attack and end up in the hospital. Seriously, is there nothing I can bribe your brother with? I have center court tickets for the Knicks next week.”

This catches her attention—her eyes widen. “Toby would kill for those—how’d you get them anyway? I heard they were sold out.”

Robert grins. “A happy client.”

“And you wouldn’t like to go?”

“God no. I hate basketball.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up, but her face breaks out into a teasing smile. “I know three boys who’ll burn you at the stake for saying that….okay, not really…they’ll probably think you’re very _uncool_.”

An amused laugh. “Then I’ll make sure never to say that.” He breathes a sigh in relief when he sees her kick off her shoes, and take off her coat—he takes it, and hangs it up in the coat closet.

“So what do you think we should do, Robert?” Her voice has taken on a sultry quality once more—she’s never felt such a sexual connection with anyone she’s dated since _him_ —she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Robert runs a nervous hand through his hair. “I thought we could shower…and talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, I’d really like to get to know you better, Sarah.”

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later)…_

Michael looks at his brother, his pale eyes wide in question—Alex shrugs.

“You want me to be _myself_?” Michael asks. “Seriously?” After all the lectures they’d received about appropriate behavior, he finds this request strange.

Jareth nods. “Yes—as I stated, it will be a diverting experience. What do _you_ believe, Sarah?”

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Sarah looks at the Goblin King—her gaze lost somewhere else. “I believe you’re amusing yourself at the expense of your court, Jareth—at the same time, you want to scrutinize how they react to both the boys.”

Jareth laughs—there’s a self-deprecating edge to his voice when he speaks. “You’ve grown into a very _perceptive woman_ , Sarah.”

Sarah bites back a scathing reply—she looks towards Michael and Alex, both of whom look like they’re ready to jump up any minute. There’s no point in riling up her children—not when they have a difficult experience ahead.

Standing up, she looks at Jareth—“Shall we? I’d like to get this over with quickly.”

It’s Alex who speaks up this time. “Are you okay, mom?” His eyes are narrow as he appraises his mother—a small frown furrows his pale brows. He can read subtle cues in her behavior indicating she’s anxious about something.

The Goblin King raises a brow, looking from Alex to Sarah. He needs her to be more relaxed—it wouldn’t work to his advantage if she were to break down during the dinner. “Would you like to speak to me alone, precious thing?”

Sarah takes in a deep breath—a small but insistent matter has been nagging away at the back of her head for a while. “Yes.”

Michael’s on his feet instantly. “Mom—what’s—”

Elbowing his brother to shut up, Alex stops himself from rolling his eyes. Michael truly doesn’t know when _not_ to interfere—he has all the subtlety of a semi. “We’ll just wait here, then.”

“I’m fine, Michael—don’t worry about me, baby,” Sarah says softly as she places her hand in Jareth’s and turns to her other son. “Thanks Alex.”

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers)…_

She bites the inside of her cheek when she realizes he’s transported them to his room. The last time she’d been here…she has to keep herself from shivering as the painful memories threaten to overtake her mind. She’d felt paralyzed by fear.

 _Snap out of it_ —she commands herself—slowly counting to twenty, recalling a list of positive memories she’s created in therapy for distressing situations.

Jareth studies her intently—he can see the wheels turn behind her eyes as she struggles to regain composure. “My court has been… _thoroughly educated_ …on the protocol they are to follow with you, precious—you needn’t fret.”

Her eyes darken. “They’ve always been educated on how to deal with me, Jareth—the only thing that’s different now is that the _protocol_ , as you call it, has changed. I don’t expect to be… _thoroughly fucked_ …at the dinner table.”

The only external indication of Jareth’s emotions is a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Then I fail to understand your concerns.”

“Aleyhra,” Sarah blurts out. “I need to see her. _Alone_.”

A razor sharp smile. “Then you’re in luck, precious thing—Aleyhra is attending the dinner tonight as well. Consider her a _special guest_ of sorts. As for speaking to her alone…” he tilts his head, eyes glimmering dangerously. “She is my prisoner, and as such, you have no right to demand a private audience. I suggest you share your concerns with _me_.”  

Surging anger replaces Sarah’s fear. “You want to make a spectacle of her, is that it?”

Jareth doesn’t flinch at the level of vitriol in her tone of voice. “Absolutely. I want my court to witness her…hideously starved body…and understand the consequences of betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” Sarah asks rhetorically—breaking out into harsh laughter. “She helped me escape, Jareth—she didn’t lose you some highly valuable asset.”

“You were gifted with the Labyrinth’s magic—you could have become a valuable asset,” Jareth reasons with a cool shrug. “You were carrying my heirs—my sons had to be raised in the mortal realm because of Aleyhra. Defend her all you wish, precious—but I will make an example out of her.”

Sarah shivers at the frightening look of conviction in his hard eyes—she doesn’t tell him about Esiel—not yet. “She didn’t know any of that—she only wanted…”

“Yes?” Jareth asks—his voice quiet. There’s something else at play here—he wonders what has Sarah so agitated. “What did she want?”

The intensity of his gaze burns her face—she looks away, unable to look at him. “Michael and Alex hold your magic?”

“Yes.”

“Can it be used against them?”

Jareth’s face is unreadable, but his eyes bore holes in hers. “Yes it can…fatally, considering they do not know how to fight back.” He moves closer to her, circling her slowly—his demeanor now different. He seems coldly suspicious, as if he views her as a threat. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Sarah?”

“I…” she begins, unsure of how to proceed. “I gave her your crystal.”

Jareth barks out an amused laugh—he’d suspected as much. “So that’s what you did with the crystal I presented to you—I’d always assumed you’d taken it with you.” _For posterity_ —he doesn’t tell her that, though.

“So it won’t be…she can’t use it against them?”

“Of course she can, naïve mortal,” Jareth tsks mockingly—as if she’s said something very stupid. “I assume she sent it off to her own kingdom—we’ll have to wait and see what they do with it.”

Sarah’s lips part in surprise—she hadn’t known that Aleyhra wasn’t from the Goblin Kingdom. She wonders where she’s from—and what they’d do with Jareth’s magic.

Jareth answers her unvoiced questions. “Knowing the high elves, they probably plan on using it in war…against _me_.”

“What?” she exclaims, jaw dropping wide open. “ _War_?”

Jareth smirks at her naivety. “Yes, war—and _you_ , my darling, have inadvertently handed the enemy a valuable weapon. You see, most neighboring royal families are not exactly happy with the fact that I slaughtered the reigning queen, her court, and her house. They certainly don’t want any similar uprisings in their own kingdoms—the lesser fae are getting quite restless, it seems. It’s in their best interest have me removed so that they can instill a puppet in my stead—one who will ensure the lesser fae are retied to the land. You will understand the dynamics between neighboring kingdoms if you read the books I’ve assigned Michael and Alex.”

“By removed you mean…Michael and Alex…?” Sarah can’t quite finish the thought. “They _wouldn’t_.”

“Be assured that they most certainly _would_ , my darling—they will behead me and my heirs, and bury us in unmarked graves. Perhaps burn our bodies and scatter our ashes in nameless ditches. It means the end of my house and legacy. Michael and Alex will not remain unscathed if I were to lose.” His voice is detached when he speaks, but he feels a twinge of amusement when he sees her eyes widen with horror and shock. _Good_ —he thinks, it’s high time she accept the realities of his world.

“If that’s the case, there’s something else I have to tell you,” she says, miraculously keeping herself calm. “Esiel helped connect us.”

Jareth’s composure snaps—in the flash of a second, he closes the distance between them and holds her upper arm. “Explain.”

“Let go of me,” Sarah tells him, her voice surprisingly strong. “And stop looking at me so accusingly—I wouldn’t have had to do any of that if you’d just let me leave like you’d promised.”

Deciding this isn’t the opportune moment for a confrontation, Jareth bows his head, relenting. “I would appreciate it very much if you would tell me what transpired between the both of you.”

“Nothing _transpired_ between us, Jareth—I was lost one day and he figured I wanted to go home. He said he’d help me. Aleyhra said she’d arrange a portal if I brought her a crystal that held your magic.”

Using every ounce of his self-control, Jareth nods his head and stops himself from asking further questions. “I’d very much like to continue this conversation at a later time.”

“Fine...but I still don’t understand what you want from us tonight,” she says quietly, looking over both their outfits. He’d insisted she wear a dress of midnight blue—one that matched his perfectly.

The lines on Jareth’s face soften a little, his gaze remains impassive. “My court sees you as a threat, precious. I’d like for them to understand the… _value_ …you hold, at least where I’m concerned.”

Her lips part open. “How am I a threat to _you_?”

A dark chuckle, and a flash of emotion. “How, _indeed_. For one, you’ve been a rather resilient obsession of mine for the past decade and a half. You may have provided me with heirs, but my court believes, especially as you’re neither my consort nor my queen, that you’ve offered yourself on a pedestal for the High Council’s taking.”

“That’s unfair,” she grits out, suddenly furious. Hadn’t _he_ told her to present herself to the High Council as a baby making machine in the first place?

“I suppose it is,” he responds, not missing a beat. “It’s the only way to ensure your safety—they will not harm you if they believe you may be beneficial in the long run. As I stated, you aren’t my consort or my queen, so I cannot extend my personal protection to you— _not publically_.”  

She laughs humorlessly. “Great—so I should watch my back around your friends. I guess I’ve _experienced_ some of them before…so maybe it’ll be easier a second time around.”

Jareth stares at her intently for a few moments—“You have my word that I shall make a _lasting impression_ on anyone who does not treat you with the utmost respect.”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I listened to a shitload of Duran Duran while writing this. Do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do. Sarah’s hungry like the wolf—she’s finally met a man with whom she’s sexually compatible, and she’s not going to wait to jump him until Jesus gives her the greenlight or whatever. Didn’t get into the details—but assume they had safe sex. She’s not risking herpes or accidental pregnancy for a second time.
> 
> I have a month and a few days before my too short beach trip—ah booze, how do I miss thee? Let me count the ways—that too for a miserably short trip. The last time I had a proper – chill out for 20 days, never look at the phone – vacation was in Spain a few years back. Before that, it was a wildlife thing across Africa.
> 
> Now? Nothing.
> 
> Fuck adult life and responsibilities—I want to rent a house in an isolated beach for a month, and sit on my ass and drink margaritas (and maybe smoke a joint) every day—why do I have to do so much work??!! Life’s been fucking busy these last couple of years.
> 
> [Yes, I know—tiny violins and a single tear].
> 
> Now the bloody ‘flat’ construction is going to start. Ahhhhhhh. Shoot me. I need a proper break.


	21. Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: disturbing fic alert – angsty, fucked up, all kinds of triggers, dysfunctional relationships, graphic sex.
> 
> Note—the ‘present’ is lagging behind—gotta catch up. Or the angry hate sex part is never going to happen. Hence, minimal ‘past’ in this one.

 

**\--**

_(15 years prior, the Goblin King’s chambers)…_

He chuckles, amused when she scrambles to cover herself up in the early hours of the morning—he finds her modesty simultaneously annoying and arousing. “I see you’re very different from the girl who enticed me last night,” he rumbles, hands reaching out to caress her naked legs.

A slow flush creeps up her cheeks. “Did I…please you?”

Rich, throaty laughter. “Of course, precious thing—you pleased me very thoroughly.” Sitting on his knees he looms over her supine form. “I’m going to teach you, like you asked me to, love—but not how to please me.” Truth be told, she doesn’t need to be taught how to please him—she seems to do it instinctively.

Her heart thunders in her chest as he parts her legs and situates himself in between. She shivers when he flashes her a wolfish grin—sharp teeth bared, dual eyes hungry.

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m going to teach you how to take your pleasure, precious. Sit up and rest your back on the headboard. Bend your knees and part your legs…farther…yes, just like that.”

Sarah’s blood heats up with lust and anticipation—she can _feel_ his desire as it fills the room. But he doesn’t make a move to touch her—merely stares at her core until her muscles clench. “Jareth…?”

The sound of his name on her lips breaks him out of his sensual haze—his nostrils flare as he sees wetness pool below her cunt. Still—he forces himself to allow her the lead—she’s played the role of the skittish virgin long enough. “You must tell me what you desire, precious thing.”

Her eyes grow wide. _He wants her to tell him what to do_? “I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles—the sound dark and sensuous. His lips settle into a cruel smirk. “You do, precious thing—these last few weeks have been rather educational for you, have they not?” He leans closer and kneels—resting his feathery head on her thigh. “I can see the evidence of your arousal—the way your cunt muscles twitch in anticipation. Your pulse races, your nipples are hard—you know what you want, precious.”

The force of his voice vibrating against her skin makes her all the more hot—shivers run up her spine. “I don’t know how.”

“You do,” he lilts—voice low and coaxing. “Say it, precious girl. Tell me that you want my mouth on you.” He shifts slowly, his hands on either of her thighs as he pushes her legs further apart—his eyes, however, remain intent on hers. “Tell me to suckle your wet flesh…say the words, precious.”

She swallows—God help her, but she can’t stop herself from giving in to the perverse sense of pleasure he brings. “Fuck me with your mouth, Jareth,” she says, voice agonized—raw with desire.

He grins at her lazily—he hadn’t expected her to say it like _that_. He decides to play with her a little. “How shall I fuck you, precious thing? Should I kiss you slowly, coax out your desire…or should I be cruel? I’ll do anything you want, you only have to say the words.”

It takes her a while before she speaks, but when she does, her voice does not waver. “Be cruel.”

His breathing turns heated—his cock becomes unbearably hard when he sees the ravenous look in her eyes. It’s equal parts desire, desperation, and impatience. “Oh you precious thing,” he murmurs, “then you must do something for me—touch your breasts.”

She does as he asks, hands trembling as she kneads the soft flesh of her breasts—her nipples are hard when she brushes past them.

“Pinch your right nipple,” he croons, his hips automatically thrusting against the sheets in response. “Good…pinch harder precious…harder, I want to hear you cry.”

Once more, she does as he asks—her body set afire with lust and longing.

“Do the same with your other breast. You’re so fucking wet, precious thing—I can’t wait to make you come _hard_. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She moans out a yes. “Please, Jareth.”

His lips curve up, a vicious grin. “Make me, darling girl.”

“Wha—?”

“Shhhh,” he interrupts, his hands let go of her thighs and clasp hers, gently placing them on his shoulders. “Hold me in place and demand that I fuck you—demand my ruthlessness. Take what you want from me.”

She surprises herself when she holds him in place, just as he asked—one hand fists into his hair, and she brings his head to her center. “Fuck me, Jareth.”

He chuckles slowly—savoring the look of perverse desire reflected in her eyes. “Your wish is my command, precious creature.”

Saying that he makes good on his promise…and then he continues teaching her what he knows.

\--

_(Present day, 15 years later, Sarah’s apartments)…_

“So, who’s Kelnan again?” Michael asks, looking over the complex seating chart—“And why is it so important that we talk to him?”

“He’s the Head Sentinel—seriously Michael, just fucking read the stuff he’s given you.”

Michael grins at his brother, who seems all the more annoyed. “First, what the hell’s a Head Sentinel and second, ooooh you said fucking.”

Alex grins back. “Head Sentinel is like the head of his personal army or something—he’s been loyal to Jareth since before the Goblin revolution, he’s important.”

“Fine,” Michael grumbles. “What about Yvta—he’s circled that one?”

“She’s his father’s mother, his grandmother—other known as Lady Eberech.”

Michael raises his brows. “So she’s…what does that make her? Our great grandmother?”

“Yes—and if you read the stuff he gave us, you’d know that she’s the only living family he has. Apart from us, I guess. You realize he’s testing us, right—and you’re proving to him that you’re a complete idiot?”

“ _Everything_ with him is a mind game—let him underestimate me, I’ll find a way to win eventually,” Michael responds with an unconcerned shrug…a slow frown furrows his brows when he notices something. “Why’s mom at the other end of the table?”

“I don’t know. He probably wants to see us interact without mom’s presence…” Alex replies—but a similar frown furrows his pale brows. He doesn’t tell Michael that Jareth is probably testing Sarah as well.

The boys grow quiet when they hear a faint rustling of wind, indicating Sarah’s arrival—both walk up to where their mother stands, relieved that she looks less anxious.

“Everything good, mom?”

Sarah smiles at Alex’s carefully blank expression—the kid’s always been great at hiding his true emotions, but she can tell he’s wary. “Everything’s fine, Alex. We need to talk before heading to dinner.”

Michael frowns when he notices that his father isn’t present. “Where’s Jareth?”

“The king is normally the last one to enter the room—he escorts the guest of honor,” she says—at least that’s what she remembers from her last… _stay_ …at his castle.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Jareth’s going to escort someone called Lady Aleyhra. _We’re_ escorting mom—if you just read the damn notes—”

“Okay, I get it—shut up,” Michael grumbles, interrupting his brother. He turns to Sarah—“What do we need to talk about?”

“Lady Aleyhra…she’s not his guest of honor,” Sarah says, expression grim. She wonders how much she should reveal—knowing Jareth, he’s most likely using Aleyhra to prove a point to his courtiers, and he’s also gauging his sons’ reactions. “He’s punishing her for having helped me… _leave_ …this place.”

Michael’s pale eyes flash angrily while Alex keeps his gaze neutral—but Sarah can see his hands clench into tight fists.

“He kept you here as some kind of prisoner?” It’s Alex who speaks, his voice so quiet that Sarah can barely hear him.

Sarah forces a smile on her face. “Boys—calm down. I didn’t know how to travel from one realm to the other, and Aleyhra helped me—that’s all you need to know. The only reason I brought her up is that you will find her presence shocking, and so will I. That’s what they want—to throw us off balance.”

“That’s what _he_ wants, you mean.” Alex corrects her, arms crossed. Michael looks away, as if he’s too furious to speak. The boys have often wondered, among themselves, and alone—what _exactly_ transpired between Jareth and their mother. The more they learn about Jareth—the more they’re convinced it’s something unspeakably terrible.

Shaking her head, Sarah ruffles her fingers through Michael’s unruly hair. “He’s testing the waters—he’s trying to integrate you into his world without overwhelming you at the same time—from what I see, he’s trying his best. His court, however, will judge you on how easily you react…don’t give them the opportunity or the satisfaction.”

\--

_(Jareth’s formal dining hall, The Goblin King’s castle)…_

Michael pushes the food on his plate—too disgusted to take even one bite. He looks at his brother, who sits at the opposite side of the narrow table and smirks. Alex hasn’t even bothered to push the food around—his plate remains untouched.

“You’re not hungry, Your Grace?”

The Head Sentinel’s deep voice snaps Michael out of his thoughts—the young prince looks at his father’s sentinel and raises a brow. “Have you seen the woman sitting over there?”

Kelnan follows the prince’s gaze and looks at Aleyhra—she’s seated on a large chair on the dais at the center. “Her presence has destroyed your appetite, I take it?”

Michael gapes at Kelnan’s disaffected tone. “She’s like a skeleton—I’m not sure how she’s even alive.”

“Ah, you’re _concerned_ for her,” Kelnan observes with a chuckle. “You needn’t be, Your Grace. His Highness has stopped starving her as per your mother’s… _request_. Aleyhra used to look a lot worse. As for how she’s alive—we are not mortal—as such, our bodies can take a lot more… _stress_.”

“Remember what mom said, Michael,” Alex interrupts warningly from across the table—his eye’s find Kelnan’s amused gaze. “How much starvation could _you_ take?”

To the boys’ surprise, the Head Sentinel grins widely. “I have trained for centuries to withstand various forms of torture, young prince. Far more than Lady Aleyhra, I presume.”

Michael’s eyes widen at torture—“Have you tortured anyone?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Have you, like, cut someone’s dick off—fed it to your dogs—and then taunted him by eating a sausage in front of him?”

The Head Sentinel’s carefully blank visage disappears as his jaw drops open. “I have never done anything of the sort.”

Michael looks at his brother. “So he’s not a crazy psycho—I guess that’s reassuring.” Alex rolls his eyes.

Jareth overhears the exchange with cool humor—he assumes Sarah must have warned the boys about Aleyhra’s deformed appearance, which was prudent. He steals a covert glance at her direction, surprised to find her rapt in conversation with an insignificant but rising noble—a seat filler, more or less. Jealousy smolders in his chest. She always did her best to keep their conversations as short as possible—what could occupy her so?

\--

The exposed skin on the back of her neck prickles—she can sense him, reaching for her—demanding her attention. A decade and a half earlier, she might have panicked—she might have clutched her knife and fork a bit tighter…not any more. She continues speaking to the courtier next to her, without glancing at the Goblin King even once.

“So how does this work?” she asks—“Your name is Zuarick, but your title is Lahmeniff? That makes you Lord Lahmeniff?”

The young lord smiles. “That’s exactly how it works, Lady Sarah. Brilliantly done.”

“But how can I be Lady Sarah? Using geographical location as a naming system, I’d be Lady…New York. Or Manhattan.” She laughs. “God, that sounds stupid.”

Zuarick shares her laughter—delighted—a little too charmed by the mortal to notice that the king’s eyes are focused on them. “I have no doubt His Majesty will bequeath you with some valuable land, Lady Sarah—after which you shall have a formal title.”

She stops herself from rolling her eyes at _bequeath_. “You say that with so much conviction, Lord Lahmeniff—do you know something I don’t? If you were a good friend, you’d tell me what you know.”

“There’s no great secret to tell, Lady Sarah,” Zuarick responds with a shrug. “All the High Court and Council would allot you whatever you want in return for your cooperation in producing powerful offspring. I have no doubt the Goblin King does not wish to risk losing you to such a proposition.”

Sarah almost snorts aloud—Jareth already knows that there’s no way she’s ever going to agree to be a ‘uterus for hire’ in his realm, no matter what the prize. She also knows that Jareth is smart enough to want her as dependent on himself as possible—allotting her any amount of power would be too risky. She doesn’t tell Zuarick all this—instead, she smiles at him teasingly.

“You give me far too much credit, Lord Lahmeniff.”

\--

“Who’s mom talking to?” Michael asks, following his father’s icy gaze—he notices a flaxen haired man leaning a little too close to his mother than necessary.

“That’s Lord Lahmeniff, I believe,” Jareth tells the boy, his anger diffusing as he takes in Michael’s hostile gaze. He finds his son’s possessiveness oddly endearing.

Michael groans exaggeratedly at the man’s title. “Lord Lame-as-shit doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space.”

Centuries of practice in diplomacy and negotiations is what keeps the Goblin King from laughing aloud—his dual eyes rise to meet his grandmother’s gaze, which is alight with humor. “My apologies, grandmother—my sons are not used to our customs as of yet.”

Yvta, formally known as Lady Eberech inclines her head. “One can hope that they start learning our ways at the earliest, Your Majesty—insulting dinner guests is hardly appropriate.”

Alex focuses on the woman who’s supposedly his great grandmother—she looks older than Jareth, but not by much. Her eyes are pale, glassy—paler and sharper than Jareth’s—and _tired_. She seems like someone who’s lived too long and seen too much. He doesn’t say anything, but gives Michael a nod—as if giving him the green light to do as he pleases.

“ _He_ gave me permission to speak my mind,” Michael tells Lady Eberech, gesturing at his father—“and _that_ guy” he continues, indicating Lord Lahmeniff—who seems to be leaning even closer to his mother, “is beginning to piss me off.”

“Perhaps you require a lesson in etiquette as well, Jareth,” Yvta reproaches—forgoing his title. “You can’t keep yourself amused by allowing children to speak their mind at court dinner.”

Kelnan grins at the boys’ shocked expressions—they’d probably never heard anyone speak to the Goblin King so informally. “Lady Eberech—His Majesty once told me that etiquette rules were made by mindless simpletons who can’t distinguish their heads from their asses. And those who choose to _follow_ such rules…well…I couldn’t possibly comply with the rules of etiquette and tell you his exact words.”

Yvta chokes on her wine while Alex and Michael break out into laughter…at the sound of which, the generally austere Lady Eberech smiles faintly. She looks at Jareth and nods.

\--

_(Post dinner dancing—one of the smaller ballrooms in the Goblin King’s castle)…_

“This is really boring,” Alex says, stifling a yawn—“I’m sick of people staring at us like we’ve escaped from the zoo.”

“We should introduce these idiots to television—and video games—and basketball. The only thing they do for fun is dancing,” Michael grumbles in agreement.

Jareth shoots Sarah an amused glance before turning to his sons. “They’ve been warned to keep from other, _more interesting_ , activities until you’ve retired for the night…so as not to offend your mother’s delicate sensibilities. Perhaps that will not be the case next time.”

Sarah forces herself not to react to his derisive tone. “Speaking of retiring, we should call it a night. Alex has a recital tomorrow evening, so we have to be home by afternoon at the latest. I have a case that needs to be reviewed.” Ever since the start of their double life, she’s had to pull a few all-nighters for work.

“ _Oh_? And what is a _recital_?” Jareth asks, voice low and teasing.

“It’s a musical performance,” Sarah replies impatiently. “He needs adequate rest, okay? So do Michael and I.”

Jareth smiles humorlessly—she would do well to take some of her own advice. She’d told him that antagonizing him would serve her no purpose—it’s time she learned the same logic applied when the roles were reversed. “Very well, I shall ask Kelnan to escort _them_ to your apartments.”

She doesn’t miss the double meaning behind his words. “I have work tomorrow, Your Grace—it would be very _kind_ of you to allow me to retire for the night.” Her words follow the rules of protocol, but her tone is as icy as it is contemptuous.

The jealousy he’d experienced when he’d seen her laugh at Zuarick’s pathetic attempts at humor simmers to the surface. Jareth’s eyes are as hard as diamonds, and just as cold. “Indulge me tonight, Lady Sarah—you conversed quite freely with Lord Lahmeniff at dinner, allow me the same honor.”

“I must insist, Your Grace,” she says slowly—it takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep from gritting her teeth or hissing out her words in anger. “I need to _work_ to make a living so that I can support our sons—I can’t afford to waste precious sleep while attending all night orgies.”

Michael starts laughing when he hears his mother say orgies—but stops when his brother grips his arm.

A slow, cruel grin curves the Goblin King’s lips. “Unfortunately, I must insist as well—I’ll allow Michael and Alex to retire for the night, but not _you_ , precious thing.” He pauses and laughs, as he notices two pairs of blazing eyes—so quick to come to their mother’s defense. “I request that you soothe their anxiety as any public outburst on their part will warrant a very public punishment, which I cannot overlook.”

Sarah looks at her furious sons. “Alex, please do as he says. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No fucking way, mom,” Michael responds angrily—this time, Alex doesn’t interfere or tell his brother to stop. “You’re not…we’re not going to let him hurt you again.” 

Alex turns to his father, arms crossed—“you’re using us to threaten mom.”

“I’m telling her what shall occur should the two of you create a spectacle,” Jareth responds, his voice equally cool. “If you wish to make things easier for your mother, you will return to your rooms without incident.”

Michael looks like he wants to punch Jareth in the face—but he doesn’t argue—choosing to focus on his mother instead. “Mom?”

“Do as he says, _please_ , baby,” Sarah repeats—her voice is rough, but she’s able to keep from trembling. She’s equal parts furious and terrified—furious that he would dare threaten her sons and terrified that it is so very easy for him to take back the little power he’d given her. It’s an illusion, she thinks bitterly—an illusion that he can fracture into a tiny million pieces anytime he wishes.

\--

“That was low, Jareth—even for you.” She curses softly so that only he can hear, once Alex and Michael have been escorted out of the ballroom.

“My apologies,” Jareth says, holding out a hand—his tone doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “Dance with me.”

Just as she’s about to tell him to take his hand and shove it into a particular orifice, a feminine voice interrupts their private conversation.

“I might be slightly old fashioned, but public displays of aggression is hardly becoming of a consort, Lady Sarah.”

Jareth bows his head at his grandmother. “Sarah hasn’t agreed to be queen consort…not yet, in any case.”

Whirling around, Sarah’s eyes widen as she takes in the woman who stands beside her—from Alex’s notes, she knows the woman as Lady Eberech—Jareth’s grandmother. “Lady Eberech,” she says with curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 “Likewise,” the woman responds, wasting no time in scrutinizing the mortal with a hawk-like gaze. “I conversed with Michael and Alexander during dinner—they are…” she pauses, trying to think of the right word, “…happy.”

Sarah offers her a brittle but genuine smile. “I’ve tried my best.”

“Happy children are a rarity in our world, Lady Sarah. There are so few who are blessed to begin with—and those of us left to care for them are too old to remember being children. They are fortunate to have had you as a mother.”

“Thank you for your… _acknowledgement_ ,” Sarah says with a nod—Yvta’s words are kind, but there’s something sinister in the way she says ‘to have had you.’ “In case there’s any confusion, they still have me—I’ll _always_ be their mother.”

Lady Eberech turns to her grandson and raises a brow in question. “It would be best if we were to converse in private, Your Majesty—the mortal child is no doubt confused of her role if she does not choose to be consort.”

It takes Sarah a while to figure out that Lady Eberech means her when she says the mortal child—her eyes narrow. “You’ll have to kill me—”

“That’s enough, Sarah,” Jareth cuts in, icy cold rage burning in his eyes. Did she still not realize that words held power? His grandmother, who came from a more feudal era than he did, would happily kill Sarah off—and justify her actions based on Sarah’s own words—if she thought it would further her house. “Please…take my hand, and we can converse in my chambers.”

\--

_(Living area, Jareth’s chambers)…_

Rage overtakes Sarah’s senses when she arrives in Jareth’s chambers—she paces the cold stone floors. “You swore to—”

“Calm down, Sarah,” Jareth interrupts smoothly—eyeing his grandmother carefully. She sits at a corner, a hint of amusement in her pale gaze as she studies the frantic mortal.

Lady Eberech speaks when the mortal stops pacing. “She is also unaware of our customs, I presume. I believe you said she’s been here before—one would assume she would have learned then.”

Sarah eyes flash. “I was an 18-year-old _child_ , Lady Eberech—time moves differently here, so I’m not sure how long I was here the first time around, but it couldn’t have been more than a month—not remotely enough to learn all of your fucked up ways.”

“That’s correct,” Jareth agrees, surprise coloring his tone. He wonders who helped her with those calculations—and what else they helped her with. “Cease your hostility, precious—no one’s going to force you into a role you do not want.”

Glaring at Jareth, Sarah stalks across the room and sits down. “Threatening me by using my children doesn’t create a strong sense of trust, Jareth—bite me.”

To Sarah’s surprise, Lady Eberech smiles at her.

“He did not threaten you with anything mortal child—I did—and even so, I wouldn’t call it a threat. It’s more of a promise. If you’re not the king’s consort—you will receive many other offers from the High Court and High Council. Seeing as how you are intelligent, you will eventually accept one. The Goblin King’s heirs will remain with him naturally.”

“Why?” Sarah asks, humoring the woman. “What makes you think I’ll accept anyone else’s twisted offer?”

Lady Eberech frowns—as if Sarah’s asked something very obvious. “You have no protection here—you have no status, no lands, no title. As a mortal, you are… _free game_ …you will be hunted down inevitably. Surely, you do not expect Jareth to keep you in his kingdom indefinitely?”

Letting out a gasp, Sarah looks at Jareth. “I don’t know what to expect,” she says truthfully. “I guess I’ve been taking it one day at a time—is _that_ what you want, Jareth—you want me to leave you with Michael and Alex?”

Jareth raises a cool brow—he stares at the mortal woman unflinchingly for a few moments. “No. I’d never keep them from you Sarah, you know that.” He turns to his grandmother, “She has my protection—I may not declare it publically, but I will slaughter and incinerate anyone who dares harm her.”

“Hmm,” Yvta hums—she seems more amused than surprised. “Then I suggest securing her position in your court, Jareth—if she refuses to be your consort, than have her marry someone else. It will, at the very least, give her legal status as your subject…that young lord she was conversing with…Zuarick, was it?”

“Excuse me, I happen to be in the room—don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Sarah snarls at Lady Eberech before glaring at Jareth. “I’m in a committed relationship with Robert—fuck you if you think you can make me marry someone else.”

“No one is marrying anyone,” Jareth states through gritted teeth, not caring how ridiculous he sounds. Calling his grandmother to dinner had been a mistake, it seems—she and Sarah are intent on driving him mad. “Sarah has a mortal lover, grandmother—it’s best if we keep her options open at the moment. We can observe the High Court and Council—watch them scramble chaotically for some time. Sarah…I hope we can figure out a solution that is acceptable to you. I would rather die a thousand painful deaths than see you married to Lahmeniff.”

Sarah releases a breath of relief. “Fine.”

Lady Eberech seems satisfied as well. “I may have stirred your anger tonight, mortal child—but know this, I am exceedingly pleased by the existence of my great grandchildren. Enough so, that I can now choose eternal sleep.”

\--

_(Living area, Jareth’s chambers, sometime later)…_

“So that is the mortal you’ve searched for endlessly?” Yvta asks her grandson, once the mortal has left.

Jareth nods. “Yes.”

“You have her in your grasp now—why not force her hand in being consort?”

Sighing deeply, Jareth leans against the backrest and closes his eyes. “She will have no one to turn to—eventually, she will turn to me. Forcing her is unnecessary at the moment.”

“Tell me of her mortal lover.”  

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: ooh -- poor Robert. 
> 
> J's grandmother is good at playing him. lol.
> 
> Sarah needs to up her game a little --and she will. ETA -- Sarah's not flirting on purpose to get J jealous or something -- she's a pretty woman, as such she's used to attention from the opposite sex. She knows how to talk to people, keep them engaged -- walk the fine line between friendliness and flirting. If she were a more socially awkward person with minimal social interaction, then she'd probably be crap at conversation -- she'd get flustered if someone were to pay her any attention at all -- she'd stammer out a response -- and then keep her eyes on her plate. Sarah's not like that in this story, obviously--she's grown up differently from the insecure little girl that she was.
> 
> The Labyrinth hasn't even come up -- and it will.
> 
> ETA -- almost forgot. My crazy H's 37th birthday is coming up. Any ideas? Can't take a quick trip as we'd just be back from the beach and he's a workoholic.


End file.
